


dragged you from the silence where you hide

by Valania



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Excessive Cursing, FBI agent Krolia, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Humor, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Siblings, M/M, Pidge is part of Anonymous, Romance, Vampire!Lance, an excessive amount of Zak Bagans references, apparently Shiro and Keith do MMA????, ghosthunter!Keith, idek what this turned into, lots of talk about blood, modern au-ish, paranormal vlogger Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valania/pseuds/Valania
Summary: “Fine, then,” he grumbles. “What, are you a fucking vampire or something?” he asks skeptically, eyebrow cocked almost mockingly.Lance can’t resist it - he grins, wide and mischievous, willing his fangs out of hiding. “Biiiingo.” he singsongs quietly, eyes locked with Keith’s.And, all things considered, Lance would later think, this should’ve been like, the thousandth sign that Keith is no normal person. Because, instead of cowering away in fear of the unknown, like a normal person might have done at the sight of fangs glinting ominously in the moonlight, he does the complete opposite.Instead, Keith’s eyes widen almost comically in something like shock or surprise, maybe a mixture of both. He leans in, the fucker, looking closely at the sharpened canines now protruding from Lance’s mouth. “Holy shit,” Keith breathes. His eyes leave the elongated fangs and meet Lance’s gaze, stunned. “Holy fucking shit. You’re a fucking vampire.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> listen, the idea of a Keith being a zak bagans wannabe and having a massive celebrity crush on him is what has kept me going in these dark, dark times. 
> 
> also this is my first voltron fic pls be nice to me i'm trynna not think about our ultimate demise at the hands of season 8
> 
> work has been mostly unbetaed so any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> title comes from Scream by Misfits
> 
>    
> -x- breaks indicate a change in scene, still in the same perspective as the one before it. horizontal lines indicate change in perspective*****

“Okay, okay,” Keith says to himself, taking a deep, stabilizing breath as he goes over the equipment strapped to his waist. “Digital recorder, Mel Meter, SB7, Ovilus… what am I forgetting?” he takes a second to think, going over his mental list of materials. “...Oh shit! The extra batteries for the night-vision cam. What am I, an idiot?”

He stretches an arm over the backseat of his car, reaching for the duffel bag under the passenger seat.

It’s getting late; the last traces of sunlight filter through the clouds, painting the sky in rich hues of deep orange and blue. A beautiful, if a little chilly, end to another late-September day. Keith zips up his hoodie after he secures the extra batteries in their proper pocket. He’s ready.

Tonight is the night he gets real, tangible proof.

-x-

Keith leaves his car at the beginning of the trail, far enough away from the road as to not be a nuisance to anyone who might want to take scenic, mildly hair-raising 8 mile drive. He makes sure to lock his car behind him, before taking his camera and thermometer out of their respective pouches.

He checks the thermometer and turns the camera on. “Okay,” he says, extending his arm away from himself but still pointing the camera at his face. “It’s currently-” he quickly checks his watch. “11:46 P.M., temperature has held at a steady 54°F with no sudden drops for a few minutes.” he twists the camera, pointing the lens to the solitary, abandoned farm in the distance, a little under a quarter of a mile away. The metal roof glints in the moonlight almost ominously.

“Now, this abandoned farm is said to be one of the most haunted in eastern Texas, sitting just off the infamous Bragg Road here in Saratoga.” he turns, panning the camera over his car. “You can see it there, actually. I parked my car just off to the side of the road.”

His footsteps against the dirt gravel and dying leaves as he makes his slow trek towards the farm are the only sounds out here save for the constant duet of the cicadas and the crickets. Being so accustomed to the silence that comes with solo investigations, Keith is no longer unnerved by it.

The farm is nestled past a small cluster of truly enormous trees, and if Keith hadn’t scouted the area in the daylight (from his car, making sure to take notes all the while) just the day before, he’d have no idea just _how_ to find the damned place in the first place. The old barn is surrounded by a stable that’s half-caving in on itself, a silo that’s rusted to hell, and what Keith can only guess might be some sort of storage unit that has been long-boarded up, and is in an equally abysmal state.

It had been creepy enough in plain daylight, the barn especially giving Keith The Creeps in all it’s abandoned, dilapidated glory. Now, in the darkness, with nothing but his camera’s viewfinder as a guide and light source (the moon doesn’t quite reach through the dense thicket, but Keith does his damnest to not think about the slightest claustrophobia trying to crawl its way up his throat), it’s downright terrifying.

He points the camera back at his own face, stopping in place before he breaks through the grove and into the clearing.  “Now, according to my research, this place has seen a truly unprecedented spike in activity since a local man disappeared around this area five years ago.” Keith says, switching the camera to his left hand. “And a lot of you,” he says, addressing his fan base and viewers. “Have been asking me to come see what I find, so let’s go check it out.”

He flips the viewfinder so he can see where he’s going again as he turns the camera around to film the clearing.

“I’ve gotta be careful where I step here,” Keith says, as he starts picking his way through. “This entire area is bog country.”

He tries to make minimal noise, listening hard for any sounds that don’t belong out here. “One of the claims here is faint music coming from the barn and loud banging from the silo.” he says, voice just above a whisper. “But so far, it’s dead quiet.”

The clearing is covered in muddy sections that stretch across into the trees opposite of Keith, all dark and intimidating. Several patches of drying grass pepper the trail leading to the barn, and he makes sure to follow them, still holding his camera. He pulls out his Mel Meter, turning it on. The little red screen flashes on, displaying the temperature still at 54° F and no electromagnetic readings. “For those who don’t know,” Keith says after a few minutes of nothing, panning the camera to the device in his hand. “This is a Mel Meter. It reads temperature drops and electromagnetic field spikes, both of which can be indicative of paranormal activity. Now, as you can see, I’m getting flat readings all around this area. Nothing spiking inexplicably whatsoever, nothing out of the norm. I’m not getting much of anything at all other than the creeps from the barn. So it’s time for a different approach.”

He turns the Mel Meter off, stowing it away back in its usual pouch at his waist before he reaches for his digital recorder. He turns it on, extending it as far away from himself as he can, camera focusing on it.

“People say someone haunts this farm,” he says, loud but not enough to trigger an echo in the otherwise silent clearing. “Is your name Lance? Everyone says your spirit lingers here,” he continues, eyes on his viewfinder. “But I’m not so sure myself. Why don’t you tell me your name and why you’re out here?”

Keith can’t be 100% sure, but his ears immediately pick up on the faintest voice, coming from the barn. His head immediately snaps in that direction, camera moving with him. He pans it from side to side almost frantically, eyes wide, feeling a little winded. But there’s no one there, nothing to debunk. The clearing is completely desolate. He points the camera at himself once again after he pauses the recorder.

“I just fucking heard a voice saying ‘Hank’...” he whispers, “I don’t know if my camera’s audio or my digital recorder picked it up, but I swear I just heard it. Super faint, coming from the barn.”

Unfortunately, he’ll have to wait until he’s editing the footage to check if his camera caught the voice he so-clearly heard, but he can do a live EVP review with the recorder’s footage. He rewinds the tape, looking for his own voice as a place to start his review.

_“Why don’t you tell me your name and why you’re out here?”_

He brings the recorder to his ear, enduring the uncomfortable (for his arm) angle of the camera, which is still rolling.

And _holy shit_ there’s the voice, totally real and totally not a figment of his admittedly eager imagination. He rewinds the recorder again and moves it flushed with the camera’s microphone.

“ _...Hunk_?” the faint, definitively male voice asks, uncertain and afraid. Keith purses his lips as he rewinds it a few times and plays it over and over for the camera. Had this been the ghost calling Keith a ‘hunk’, or answering one of Keith’s questions?

“That is a class-A EVP,” he says, looking in the direction of the barn (or what he thinks might be the direction of the barn - without his camera’s night-vision, he’s basically blind out here.) “All right,” he switches the camera to his other hand, taking a deep breath as he readies his recorder again. “Let’s go make more direct contact with our new friend.”

He makes his way to the barn, still watching out for any muddy puddles hidden by the darkness. “This is by far the creepiest farm I’ve ever seen, not gonna lie,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low just in case the spirit he’d made contact with decides to speak again.

The barn, as he can see in his viewfinder, is tall and imposing. Keith speaks in whispers again. “I’m gonna have to use my flashlight in there. From the looks of it, it hasn’t been opened in quite awhile, and I don’t know what I’m gonna find there.”

He puts the recorder away in the front pocket of his shirt, still rolling, and grabs his flashlight instead as he nears the double barn doors.

He touches a gloved hand to the aged wood, running his fingers over the peeling blue paint briefly before he pushes the doors open.

 

* * *

 

The Intruder is back.

He’d heard someone, a low voice breaking the silence of the thicket, earlier. He’d foolishly called out Hunk’s name, until he realized it wasn’t his best friend paying him a visit. But after a few minutes, the silence had returned, and Lance had realized it hadn’t been Hunk after all.

The voice is back, though, quiet and low. Lance sits up in his cot, stress ball in his hands forgotten momentarily as he concentrates on listening hard, trying to make out words in the stranger’s whispers.

He knows the anniversary of the day he went missing is coming up - he doesn’t know the exact date it is tonight, but he knows it’s sometime in late fall, so he’s expecting Hunk any day now.

Hunk’s visits, though few and far in between, not to mention downright depressing at times, have been the highlights of the last 5 years. He hasn’t visited since Lance’s birthday in July, so he’s feeling lonely and desperate to hear his best friend.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna find there.”

The voice is unfamiliar, though that’s hardly surprising: the farm and Bragg Road tend to attract people -  especially teenagers, and especially around Halloween - from all over Eastern Texas. Lance is used to strangers barging in to his farm all the time.

Okay, well, that might be a bit of a stretch. It’s not _his_ farm, not exactly. Far as he knows, it doesn’t belong to anyone, and it hasn’t since before Lance was even born. Still, it’s what he has. It’s _home_.

He hears the big, wooden doors creak with misuse, the hinges protesting loudly after (probably) half a century of never being oiled.

“Ah, shit.” Lance mouths, getting up from his cot as quickly and quietly as he can, dashing to turn his lamp and music player, which had been playing music at the lowest volume as to not attract any more unwanted attention, off.

He stills himself, not daring to so much as _breathe_ as he hears The Intruder’s first steps, hesitant and slow, on the barn’s wooden floor.

He purses his lips, shoots a cursory glance over his cellar, littered with his things; some had been brought here by Hunk on his visits, others he’d had with him the day he’d gone missing, others he’d stolen from dumpsters, some from old, forgotten storage units, and on rare occasion he happens to take a trip into town, the nearest department store.

The footsteps stop directly above him, snapping Lance out of his reverie.

“I know I heard someone earlier, and I’m sure I just heard music playing…” The Intruder calls out to the empty barn, voice reverberating oddly against the rusted, dust-covered farming equipment and forgotten bales of hay. “I know there’s someone here. I can feel your presence. You can use me as a conduit! Use my energy!”

Lance bites his lip to hold back the laugh bubbling up his throat. What a joke.

“Who were you calling a hunk? You said hunk earlier. Who are you?”

Lance knows better than to poke fun at a random dude playing Zak Bagans, looking for ghosts and demons or whatever. He _knows_. And yet…

He walks over, quietly as he can, to the other side of the cellar. He grabs a pole reclining against the wall, and, with what Hunk would have described as a shit-eating grin etched on his face, he bangs it as loud as he can against the floorboards.

There’s a loud yelp above him, followed by what sounds like something being dropped and rolling on the dusty, wooden floor. “ _Fuck_!” The Intruder yells, alarmed. Lance bites down on his lip hard again to keep from laughing.

The next few seconds of silence are only interrupted by heavy, startled breathing.

“Something… just banged on the floorboards… I _felt_ it under my feet.” The Intruder whispers.

Lance raises an eyebrow: He hadn’t realized there was a second person - The Intruder is alone, so who is the nutjob talking to?

“Are you Lance McClain?” he asks, and Lance feels his blood (figuratively) run cold. “If you’re Lance, can you tell me how you died? Who did this to you, Lance? What happened to you here?”

The silence is deafening.

There’s an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that threatens to bubble up his throat - it’s the same sad urge he gets when Hunk visits and he has to stay quiet, to stay hidden. _I’m here, I’m not dead_ , he wants to say. _I’m just a little different, but I’m still me!_

And although Lance is no stranger to these feelings and thoughts, this is the first time they’ve triggered by anyone other than Hunk. Who the hell _is_ this guy?

“I’m not getting any responses on The Ovilus. Whoever was just here must’ve used up all their energy to make that loud thump on the floor earlier, because they’re not coming through now.”

Lance rolls his eyes as he understands what’s happening now. Who even goes ghost hunting _alone?_

-x-

Over the next few minutes, Lance listens as The Intruder asks question after question with no answer and talks to what Lance assumes is probably a camera about the equipment he’s using to attempt to get readings (unsuccessfully.)

It’s sometime between an explanation and demonstration on something called SB Something or Other, when Lance realizes there’s something _wrong._

After Lance had… _changed_ , his sense of smell had improved significantly. He can just about smell anyone who takes a cruise down the road, in their cars, looking for the ghost of Bragg Road, and if he concentrates, he can smell all the way down to the 787.

But this pseudo-Zak Bagans wannabe… Lance _can’t smell him._

There’s no scent wafting down the through the floorboards of the old barn, tantalizing and warm, making his throat seize in thirst and desire. It’s like _there’s no one there._

Lance frowns, taking a quiet whiff; maybe he missed something?

The Intruder continues talking to his camera, as if everything is okay.

_Can vampires have panic attacks? Is that a thing I have to worry about now?_

“It’s been quiet for awhile…” comes a soft, quiet voice from up above, and then a bit louder: “...Lance McClain?”

In his cellar, Lance stills, listening.

“If it really _is_ you stuck in this farm, I-I just want to say how sorry I am that this happened to you.”

Looking down, Lance realizes his hands are balled tightly into fists. In the dim (for his eyes, anyway) light, he can see his knuckles strained against his brown skin.

“You are safe to talk with me, Lance. My name is Keith,” The Intruder - _Keith_ \- says, voice earnest. “I’ll listen to your story, I’ll try to understand.”

The sad urge he’d felt earlier blooms in his chest again; stronger, primal and desperate, clawing at his throat and threatening to overpower him.

Without really registering what he’s doing, he climbs the wooden steps quietly and reaches for the trapdoor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly, an enlightened sort of expression flashes in Keith’s eyes. “Oh my god. Oh my god, does this mean Mothman is fucking real, too?”
> 
> “I- Mothman?” Of all people, Lance thinks, deeply chagrined, for him to have shown himself to for the first time in 5 years, and he’s gone and chosen a weird Mothman-enthusiast alien? “I out myself as a creature of the night, but sure, he’s more interested in a giant mythological moth with legs. Go fucking figure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna wait a few days to upload this but then i was like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i have 5 chapters planned out for now but that's always subject to change, btw. 
> 
> horizontal lines indicate change in perspective*****

Keith knows his instincts are nearly always right. He’s captured his best, most compelling evidence by trusting his gut.

And right now, his gut is telling him Lance McClain is here with him.

He turns the Spirit Box on again and winces slightly as the loud white noise breaks the silence rather painfully. “Can you speak to me through this device, Lance?”

Keith would later berate himself for his complete and total slip up. He should’ve definitely used the recorder instead of the Spirit Box. If he had, he would’ve heard the trap door by the old bales of hay stacked against the back wall, and maybe then, he wouldn’t have been scared shitless.

“Dude,” The voice from the EVP earlier says, much clearer and louder than before. “Turn that shit off, I reckon you don’t need it to hear me.”

Keith yells in surprise, the Spirit Box slipping from his fingers and landing on the wooden floorboards with a sharp thud; the white noise stops immediately. Heart in his throat, Keith whirls around, instinctively reaching for the switchblade at his waist. The voice had been a bit _too_ clear to belong to a spirit. “Who’s there?” Where in the motherfuck is his bastard flashlight when he needs it the most?

“Woah, okay man, uh. Sorry. Um,” the voice says again and, if he strains his eyes, Keith can see… something: a shadow in the outline of a tall person, darker and more substantial than the darkness surrounding it. “Chill out, maybe?”

“Show yourself!” Keith demands instead, crouching to put his camera down on top of his backpack, in the direction of the voice. He sees the stupid flashlight, a few feet away from where the Spirit Box landed. He dashes for it and sends a quick thanks to the moon for shining brightly through the barn shutters as he closes his hands around it, quickly flicking it on.

It all happens so fast, Keith has barely enough time to fully process it: in the same fraction of a second that the light bursts from the flashlight like a laser beam, there’s a pained hiss and a flash of movement. It’s hard to follow it all, disoriented as he is by the sudden light straining his eyes.

“Oh my _god_ , that’s worse than your cunt of a ghost speaker, turn it the fuck _off!_ ” the voice shrieks. Only now does Keith take in the man cowering behind a wooden support beam, face in his hands, shielding himself from the light.

“Shit,” Keith mumbles, hurriedly directing the flashlight elsewhere, but leaving it on. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Who am _I_? Who the hell are _you_?” the stranger says, palms digging into his eyes with a pained whine. “Don’t you know it’s rude to barge in to people’s barns unannounced and attack them with flashlights?” he grumbles, dropping his hands. “What, were you… _raised in a barn_?”

There’s a pregnant, awkward pause as Keith blinks, having momentarily forgotten how to breathe as he registers the face in front of him.

“What, _no_ _thing_? C’mon man, that was absolute _gold_ and you know it.”

“...Oh my god,” Keith breathes, his grip on the flashlight slackening as his hands clam up.

“Finally recognized the genius you’ve been presented with, have you? It’s okay to admit you’ve been floored, go ahead. I’m humble enough to accept your praise graciously.”

But Keith has stopped listening. “ _Fuck_. You’re Lance. _You’re_ _Lance McClain._ ” he whispers, voice a pitch higher in shock. He recalls the pictures from the missing person flyers and obituary he’d found during the location research process: the brown skin and bright blue eyes. The attractive, confident smirk.

Instead of sobering up, Lance smiles a cheshire grin, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Keith’s brain seems to be stuck in the impossibility that _the_ Lance McClain is standing in front of him, looking solid and _human_ and casting a shadow against the beam of the flashlight, very much corporeal. “...Are you a zombie?” Keith hears himself asking, dumbfounded.

He sees an annoyed spasm flash across Lance’s face. “What? No, of course not, moron!” he huffs, affronted. “Haven’t tried braining you, have I?”

“But… it doesn’t make sense,” Keith mumbles, thumbing through mental files of extensive research he’d done before the requests to investigate the farm had even flooded his feed. “They never found your body, just your clothes, covered in blood, scattered around The Thicket. The trail went cold; the case was closed _years_ ago. Everyone thought you were _dead._ ”

Keith wonders if he’s imagining the way Lance’s shoulders tense, his nostrils flaring at the word _dead_. He recovers quickly, uncrossing his arms and inspecting his nails nonchalantly. “‘S not hard to disappear if you want to.” he says, voice breezy, flapping a hand dismissively. “Enough about me and my undead state,” he snaps impatiently, straightening up. When he makes eye contact, Keith feels a cold chill running up his spine. “Let’s talk about _you_ for a second, shall we?”

Keith blinks, perplexed as Lance sautners over to him slowly, a curious glint in his eyes. “I… what?”

“First off, who the hell goes ghost hunting alone?” Lance asks, suddenly in Keith’s space, and wow, when did _that_ happen? “Isn’t that Ghost Hunting 101? Don’t you have friends? Or are you out here enduring a cruel Halloween dare?”

“I’m a grown man,” Keith grumbles, irritation seeping into his voice. “I don’t need chaperones.”

“I don’t know, dude, your screaming earlier begs to differ.” Lance says, leaning in close to Keith’s neck and taking a big whiff. Not knowing what’s happening, Keith feels himself still in place, a flush warming up his neck and rising up to his cheeks, because _what the fuck_? “Huh. This is _so weird._ I can _feel_ the warmth, I can see it, but I can’t…” he pauses, leaning back on his heels. Keith feels almost entranced, the sound of Lance’s voice hypnotic. “I can’t smell it.” he says, voice soft and contemplative.

“Smell what?” Keith asks, self-conscious. He’d showered earlier that evening, and though he tends to runs at a hotter temperature than most, he knows he hasn’t been sweating. Did he forget his deodorant?

“Your blood.” Lance says, eyes boring into Keith’s with an intensity he can feel in his _toes_.

In the few seconds it takes Keith to process Lance’s words, he blinks blankly once. Twice. Thrice. The intensity spell having dissipated, he scoffs. “What, are you a bloodthirsty demon, lusting after virgin blood for your ritual sacrifices?” he asks sardonically, eyebrow raised.

Lance snorts, playful edge back in his voice. “You saying you’re a virgin?”

Despite the precarious situation he finds himself in, Keith can’t help but roll his eyes at the immaturity of it all, fighting the blush rising up his cheeks. “It means blood that’s never been used in a sacrifice or ritual,” he explains, tone slightly defensive. “Not _that_ kind of virgin.”

“Sure it does,” Lance retorts, and Keith notices he’s begun circling Keith slowly, an appraising look in his eyes. He feels vulnerable all of a sudden. “How do you know that, anyway?” he asks. Keith realizes his palms have broken out in a cold sweat. The flashlight and switchblade slip in his hands a bit, and he tightens his grip on both. “You a satanist or something?”

“Hardly,” Keith replies dryly, before he realizes suddenly: “You’ve been listening to me this whole time. You made that banging noise earlier, didn’t you?”

Lance has the audacity to chuckle. “Guilty,” he says, and Keith can hear a smile in his tone. “meant to scare you off,” he says, coming back in view on Keith’s right side. “and it usually works. Most people hear a loud crash or banging in the silo, and they’re gone faster than I can say _boo._ ” he crouches down by the Spirit Box, long, brown fingers reaching for the device and the attached speaker. He inspects it for a second, gaze inquisitive. “But _you_ stayed. Freaked out, yet here you still are.”

Keith wants to protest - He did _not_ freak out, he’d kept his cool and proceeded with the investigation like a damn _professional_ , thanks - but Lance doesn’t give him the chance as he continues. “You’re _weird._ ”

Well, that’s _rich_. “How am _I_ the weird one in this scenario?”

Having ignored Keith completely, Lance suddenly gasps. “Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes so wide Keith worries they might roll out of his head. “Are you a fucking _alien_?”

“...You can apparently smell blood and _faked your death_ , but _I’m the alien?_ ”

“I didn’t fake my death.” Lance says, voice suddenly clipped, and Keith realizes he’s somehow said the wrong thing.

“Well then… If I can ask…” he clears his throat, lowering the switchblade a little. “What happened to you?” and dammit, he can’t help the curious lilt in his voice.

Lance pauses in place, the Spirit Box still in his hands, as he glances at Keith. “Hmmm,” he muses, eyes contemplative for a second. “I propose a trade.”

“A… A trade?” Keith frowns, taking a second to think about his current situation: he’s in an abandoned barn in the middle of the night, far enough away into The Big Thicket that no one will hear him call for help if he should need to. The odds aren’t looking too great for him. “I don’t have any money, if that’s what you mean.”

Unceremoniously, Lance plops down onto the dusty barn floorboards. “Don’t worry Keef, I’m not after your millions.” he says flippantly, nodding at Keith and gesturing him to sit down in front of him with a jerk of his head.

In retrospect, he knows this is probably a bad idea, but he’s intrigued. The answer to an unsolvable murder case? He is mature enough to admit he’s a weak man.

Keith slowly sits down.

 

* * *

 

“All right,” Keith says cautiously. His eyes are guarded. “What do you want, then?”

Lance purses his lips, a bit hesitant. It’s such a terrible idea. It’s stupid and _dangerous_ , and at this point, Lance should know better.

Hell, he _does_ know better. But that doesn’t stop him. Curiosity killed the cat, after all.

And he really _is_ curious. Keith is a dork and he’s a Zak Bagans wannabe, but he’s interested in Lance’s story. It helps that he’s hot, too, in that Gerard Way kind of way, all grungy, unkempt hair and tired eyes, and oh god, how could Lance have forgotten just how _gay_ _his bixsexual ass actually is._

Attractive stranger aside, Lance hasn’t talked to anyone who isn’t himself in the last 5 years. Listening to Hunk speaking to him as if he’s a ghost is one thing, of course. And sure, he’s kept detailed letters of his responses to everything Hunk has told him over the years, about his ups and downs, news about the town and his family and other friends, but it’s not the same. And though Lance isn’t necessarily cut off from the world outside The Big Thicket, it’s _nice_ having a conversation with a human being. A friendly back and forth, if you will. Not to mention the enigma of Keith’s blood and how Lance still can’t smell him. How if it wasn’t for the warmth exuding from Keith, he might’ve thought him a vampire, too.

“I’ll tell you my whole sob story, spare no gory details,” he pauses, surveying Keith in front of him intently. So far, the guarded look hasn’t left his sharp, dark eyes, though he can see the burning curiosity swimming in deep pools of gray. “in exchange for a few drops of your blood.”

There’s a moment of silence in which Lance can see the figurative cogs turning in Keith’s head as he processes what Lance has just said.

“All right, just so we’re on the same page,” Keith says slowly. “you just asked a total stranger for a blood sample… But _I’m_ still the weird alien one. Right?”

Is this guy _serious_? “Dude. Are you honestly still hung up on that? Stop living in the past.”

Keith looks unimpressed and Lance realizes Keith thinks he’s fucking with him. Lance only wishes he was.

Once upon a time, Lance recalls, when he’d been human, he’d had an aversion to blood. The mere sight of it would make him feel faint and queasy. Becoming  a vampire hasn’t really done much to change his ill feelings about it. If anything, his resentment has changed to reflect his diet.

This, though, is an anomaly. Lance had never come across a person - hell, even an animal, for that matter - he couldn’t _smell._

“C’mon, man,” Keith huffs, raising a thick eyebrow in disbelief. “Be serious. What do you really want?”

“I just told you,” and then, as an afterthought: “and fuck you, I’m always serious.”

“What does it say about you when I’ve known you for all of 2 seconds and I already know that’s bullshit?”

Lance snorts. He’s funny, Keith. Lance really hopes his hypothesis is right - He likes Keith. It would be a shame if this were to go horribly wrong. He doesn't want it on his conscience. “About me? Nothing at all. About you? That you’re a terrible judge of character.”

Keith grunts in response, but he’s considering it, Lance notes, and he can’t help the bud of excitement pooling in his gut. Keith purses his lips, eyes dark as he contemplates.

“So, to recap,” Keith says, meeting Lance’s eager eyes with his own guarded, cautious ones. “You’ll tell me what happened to you - ‘sparing no detail’....” he hesitates, voice unsure. He’s testing the waters, Lance thinks, and he doesn’t seem to like the way the current is taking him. “In exchange for a few drops of my _blood_?”

Lance shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure. A little blood sample for my whole sob story. I think it’s a fair trade, don’t you?”

“I don’t know... ” Keith trails off. “You’re not gonna use it for like, freaky shit, are you? Like a demon pact or weird, kinky sex stuff?”

It takes Lance a second to realize Keith is not, in fact, joking. He chokes back a laugh, and Keith scowls. It’s cute, really.

“Fine, then,” he grumbles. “What, are you a fucking vampire or something?” he asks skeptically, eyebrow cocked almost mockingly.

Lance can’t resist it - he grins, wide and mischievous, willing his fangs out of hiding. “Biiiingo.” he singsongs quietly, eyes locked with Keith’s.

And, all things considered, Lance would later think, this should’ve been like, the thousandth sign that Keith is no normal person. Because, instead of cowering away in fear of the unknown, like a normal person might have done at the sight of fangs glinting ominously in the moonlight, he does the complete opposite.

Instead, Keith’s eyes widen almost comically in something like shock or surprise, maybe a mixture of both. He _leans in_ , the fucker, looking closely at the sharpened canines now protruding from Lance’s mouth. “Holy shit,” Keith breathes. His eyes leave the elongated fangs and meet Lance’s gaze, stunned. “holy fucking shit. You’re a fucking _vampire._ ”

“Yes,” Lance says, wincing a bit as he retracts his cool little party trick slowly. Keith’s gaze returns to his mouth in sick fascination. “that’s been established, Keef. Keep up.”

And suddenly, an enlightened sort of expression flashes in Keith’s eyes. “Oh my god. Oh my _god,_ does this mean Mothman is fucking real, too?” he asks in a breathless voice.

“I- _Mothman_?” Of all people, Lance thinks, deeply chagrined, for him to have shown himself to for the first time in 5 years, and he’s gone and chosen a weird _Mothman-enthusiast alien_? “I out myself as a creature of the night, but sure, he’s more interested in a giant, mythological moth with legs. Go fucking figure.” he mumbles darkly before he speaks up again, his patience running thin. “Look, are you interested in the trade or not?”

“ _Yes_ , of course, I’m interested!” Keith says immediately, eyes flashing. “Are you kidding? Who would turn down the chance to talk to a _fucking vampire_ that has been missing for 5 years? Someone must’ve bitten you, huh? So that means there’s more of your kind, right?”

“All right, reign it in, cowboy. One question at a time, please. We’re not fucking savages in this here barn.” Lance says tacitly as he shifts from sitting with his legs crossed to lying down on his stomach, ankles locked in the air.

“So… Who bit you? How…” And suddenly, as if a switch is being turned off, the eagerness and excitement drain out of Keith’s face as a realization sets in. “Someone tried to hurt you.” he says in a small, uncomfortable voice.

“Right-o,” Lance deadpans. “Not all that cool when you really think about it, huh?” he murmurs.

And in truth, Lance doesn’t like thinking about it much: what’s the use in stewing in something he never had any control over? A deal is a deal, though. He steels himself as he speaks again. “It was around this time of year,” he starts, voice faraway. “You know what sucked the most? My buddy and I used to come out here all the time, when life sucked. We would walk the Thicket around here, or drive down Bragg Road… This was our safe place, where nothing could hurt us. It was the greatest kick in the nuts.” he pauses, feeling Keith’s eyes on him. “Anyway, I was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and smelling too tantalizing, I guess.”

Keith is silent for so long, Lance is worried he might have fallen asleep. “Was it… Painful?” he finally asks in a low, husky voice. He clears his throat absently.

“I mean, _yeah_?” Lance snorts. What kind of question is that? “You try and get drained of most of your blood like a fucking Caprisun and let me know how good it feels.”

“Er, right. Sorry.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Lance continues flippantly. “I don’t know if I was meant to live through it or not, but here I am. So, that’s it, that’s the whole story.”

Keith isn’t buying it. “I thought you would ‘spare no gory detail’, and here you are, skimming over the gore.” he says pointedly. Lance rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically.

“Sorry, didn’t think you’d want to hear how my nearly-lifeless body was stuffed in the silo to rot for eternity.”

Keith’s face pales in the weak light of his flashlight pointed at the opposite wall, aghast. “The _silo_?”

Lance shrugs, inspecting his nails. “He wasn’t the most careful, or the smartest. Real sloppy with his dinner, if you ask me.”

But Keith’s mind is already elsewhere. “You know,” he starts after a bit, in a contemplating voice. “My mom had just made detective when you disappeared. She requested the case a few times, but Major Crimes took over, and they never turned up anything. Nothing was ever solved.” He laughs humorlessly. “And you were here, in their backyards, the whole time.”

Well, _that_ is certainly news to him. He knows, from listening to Hunk talk on his visits, that it had been a big deal, his disappearance. He does remember, though, the searches, the scent of people lingering in the Thicket burning his throat with thirst and desire he could feel in every cell of his body. Remembers them calling his name over and over. Remembers stifling his thirst for so long he had snapped when a wild boar had wandered too far into the farm. “Your mom’s a cop?” he asks instead, snapping himself out of his reverie.

“Not anymore,” Keith says absently. His eyes are far away and Lance wonders what memories he’s seeing in his mind’s eye. “FBI now.”

Lance lets out a low whistle. “Shit. Must be cool having a badass for a mom, huh? Or is she a stickler for the rules?”

Keith’s eyes come back into focus again, and he shoots Lance an impatient look, unimpressed. Lance is starting to think that’s his default expression at this point. “She’s a badass, but we weren’t talking about her. We were talking about you.”

He can’t help it - Lance grins. “You were the one who changed the subject, ya know.”

But Keith has chosen to ignore him. “What were you even doing out here that night, anyway?” he asks, and Lance doesn’t have to ask for clarification. “My mom said the case files were shaky and inconclusive with some of the details.”

Bitterness rises within himself like a wave, and Lance has to hold back a sneer as a dry, humorless laugh bubbles up his throat. “That’s hardly surprising,” he mutters acidly. “I doubt mom and dad wanted the world to know they had a _maricón_ for a son.”

Keith sits up suddenly. “Are you saying… Your parents withheld information about your disappearance?” Keith asks, sounding troubled. Lance glances at him. His face matches his tone, looking mildly disturbed, if a little upset. “Like, they _withheld_ details that could’ve maybe saved your life?”

“No,” Lance says immediately. He wants to roll his eyes, because Keith just _doesn’t get it._ “I was a goner before they’d even called the fuzz, dude. Besides…” Lance pauses, recalling the events of the night. The anger he had felt. The sadness. His heart breaking. “My parents are probably happier to have a dead son than a queer one. They didn’t seem to care much when they fucking disowned me.”

He tries to keep his expression neutral when he looks back at Keith, but it’s hard when he looks so _noble_ and righteously _upset_. Ugh. “Anyway, Hunk told the cops about the farm, and that’s why they came here looking for me. I knew this is the first the would look, so…”

“So you planted your own clothing in the property, made everyone think you were probably dead.” Keith finishes for him when he trails off. Lance has to give it to him, he’s smart.

“So the detective gene runs in the family, huh, Keef?” he quips, smirking. “It wasn’t hard. I didn’t have to much to my jacket. It was already fucked up and covered in my blood from the attack two days earlier. I’d turned by then.”

Lance notices Keith’s eyes shift to his mouth ever so often before darting away, and he knows he must’ve been wondering about the fangs, the thirst.

“So… You can smell other people’s blood? But… you can’t smell mine. Right?” he asks.

“That’s about the gist of it, yeah.” Lance nods. “Not something I’ve ever come across.”

“Er,” Keith clears his throat, suddenly shifting awkwardly. Lance raises an eyebrow, his ankles in the air switching positions. “I don’t know what constitutes as _rude_ for a vampire _,_ per say, but uh…” he starts, scratching the back of his neck. He won’t meet Lance’s eyes, though he can probably guess what he’s trying to say. “Have you - uh, you know. How many people-”

“I haven’t killed anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” Lance says, amused. “You could say I’m a modern-day Edward Cullen, except less broody and without the glitter.”

Keith refuses to chuckle, and Lance can tell - he purses his lips almost stubbornly, but his big, dark eyes give him away instantly. “Uh,” Keith says after a minute, features schooled again. “If you don’t feed on people, then… I’m guessing you feed on the animals around the Thicket?”

“Ding ding ding, Keef gets it again!” Lance says, grinning. “I’d be willing to wager wild hog tastes just like human, from the smell alone.”

He more senses than sees Keith shiver as a cold chill runs up his spine at his words. “I _knew_  all humans were pigs.” he says quietly.

Lance laughs openly at that because _it’s funny_ and this is the first genuine conversation he’s had in five years, and he hasn’t _lied_ about his story, not once, and it feels so _good._ It’s almost  _normal_.

“So you’ve been here this entire time, then? Just living it up in this farm by your lonesome?” Keith says, shooting a cursory glance around the place. “Must be, uh. Dull.”

“Eh. It’s not so bad,” he says easily, and well. He was bound to break sometime. Though, being honest, it’s not exactly a lie - the barn has character, if anything. It’s his home. “Anyway, let’s not get off track,” he says, smirk widening with his anticipation. “I believe it’s your turn--”

He cuts himself off then, as his ears pick up the sound of an engine not too far away from the barn proper. Shit, that’ll be Hunk.

“Fuck,” Lance curses, scrambling up. “Of all fucking times, bud…” he looks at Keith. “Pack up your shit, Zak Bagans, you’re going down to the cellar. But don’t worry,” he smirks at a puzzled Keith. “I won’t make you go in alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maricón - derogatory slang for gay in Spanish for those who are curious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do have another question, though.”
> 
> “I can’t turn into a bat, if that’s what you want to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess i'm just gonna pump these chapters out, nbd
> 
> also wow thank you so much for your kind words and kudos so far! puts me at ease and really motivates me to write faster
> 
> chapter 4 will probably be out in a few days since i, uh. still have to start it. i was lucky enough to have most of 3 done by the time the first two went up, so your patience is appreciated lol
> 
> lemme know if you catch the parks and rec quote i accidentally sprinkled in there lmao
> 
> -x- breaks indicate a change in scene, still in the same perspective as the one before it. horizontal lines indicate change in perspective*****
> 
> ***there is a lot of blood talk this chapter, just be aware of it and be safe if that ain't ya thing***

Having been raised by a cop and a firefighter, Keith has always been good about common sense: using turn signals, wearing his helmet when he decides to ride his motorcycle, keeping an eye on drinks at bars, look both ways before crossing the street. _Maybe_ don’t let an honest-to-god vampire lure you down into his cellar in an abandoned farm.

Lance had grabbed Keith’s equipment and shoved him down the trapdoor by the big bales of hay stacked against the back wall. “H-hey!” Keith had protested, nearly tripping down the old wooden steps leading down the cellar.

“Keep it down, ghost boy!” Lance hisses as he steps down into the cellar just behind Keith, closing the trapdoor after them. They’re plunged into inky darkness immediately.

Bewildered, Keith whirls around, backpack clutched to his chest like a shield with one arm as his other one frisks his own pockets for his switchblade. Would it really give him any sort of advantage against a fucking _vampire_? Probably not. Doesn’t stop him, though.

“What the _fuck_ , Lance, wha--” he starts to say, incensed, but suddenly there’s a hand over his mouth, smooth and holy shit _it’s so cold_.

“Keith, listen to me,” Lance murmurs, voice serious, directly in his ear. His cool breath sends chills down Keith’s spine and over his exposed skin. “I need you to quietly quiet down _quietly_. Think you can do that? And put your bitch of a flashlight away!”

Keith wants to object - he’s essentially blind down here as is, but then he remembers the fangs protruding from Lance’s mouth, shiny and sharp. He slowly, reluctantly, stashes the flashlight back inside his backpack. He keeps his switchblade in his hand, though. Useless as it probably is against Lance, it calms him to hold on to it tightly.

They stand there together for a few long seconds, Lance’s hand over Keith’s mouth and his breath on his neck, and _dammit_ , why does he have to be _so fucking gay_ and why does Lance have to be so _attractive_ and a damn _vampire--_

His train of thought is interrupted by the distinctive sound of the barn door hinges protesting loudly from above. Eyes wide, he holds his breath. He feels Lance freezing behind him as the heavy footsteps reach their ears.

“Hey, buddy,” a husky voice says, muffled slightly by the floorboards. “I meant to show up a little earlier but I got stuck at work and then I had to make your garlic knots and… Time just slipped away. But I’m here now.”

Lance’s hand slips off Keith’s mouth slowly, and feeling puzzled, Keith glances behind at him. His eyes are slowly starting to get used to the darkness, and he can _just_ make out Lance’s downcast eyes and the sad frown on his brow.

The newcomer continues speaking after a heavy sigh. Keith thinks he can hear the floorboards squeaking under his weight, and he guesses he’s sitting down on the floor. “You know, I saw Vero today. She looked sad. Said she, Marco and Luis are hanging in there, but they miss you. We all do.”

Keith’s confused eyes are on Lance, who looks pained, like an invisible force has knocked him upside the head. It doesn’t sound like the newcomer is with someone else up there… What’s going on?

“I-” The stranger suddenly sounds choked up, and Keith, in the darkness, can faintly see Lance screw his eyes shut as if holding back tears. What the fuck is he missing? “Lance, buddy, I miss you so much. You know, Shay came in to the garage yesterday for an oil change and I finally took your advice and asked her out. I was so excited, I had my phone in my hand and was dialing your number before I realized what I was doing. But then I remembered.”

There’s a sniffle from above, and Lance turns away from Keith, facing the wall.

“It only took me 6 years to get it right, huh? Not too shabby! But I wish you were here to tease me about her. I wish we could double date. I wish I could talk to you and come here with you and eat the garlic knots with you--”

There’s a choked sob above them and Keith thinks he can hear Lance whimper ever so softly, as if holding back one of his own. He’s never been great with empathy, Keith, but right now he feels his heart wrenching painfully in his chest as Lance and his friend mourn the loss of each other. He can’t help but feel like an intruder in a private, intimate moment.

“A-anyway,” another loud sniffle. Keith can see Lance shaking in his peripheral, now sitting cross-legged, facing the wall. “I brought you some pictures and flowers. I know you like them, and also that one mixtape we made in 7th grade, remember? The year you finally got your braces off? I found it on my old laptop when I was looking for an old family picture.”

Lance’s best friend continues on like that, rattling tidbits of his life at Lance, speaking about old times and new times with their other friends and Lance’s siblings and nieces and nephews; about how much he loves his new job as a mechanic but how much he misses his part time job at the local diner sometimes.

After about half an hour of Lance staring at wall, refusing to look at Keith, his friend gets up from the floorboards above, sighing and sniffling loudly. Keith has busied himself by sitting directly where he’d been standing, reclining against the first wooden step.

“Well, buddy, I think it’s time I get going. I’ll be back sooner this time, I promise. I’m sorry I haven’t come by since your birthday. Things have been… kind of crappy lately. It’s hard not having my best bro there with me, ya know?” He pauses for a second, as if looking for words. “But I - I know you’re there with me in spirit. I know you’ll always be with me. You’ll always be my best friend, Lance. I love you, man.”

And with those heartbreaking words, he walks out of the barn, heavy footsteps slow and deliberate. The doors behind him are quieter than usual.

Keith doesn’t know how long he and Lance sit in the dark, basking in the silence; could have been seconds, maybe minutes, possibly hours. After a long, long while, he hears the shuffling of Lance’s feet against the stone floor as he untangles his long legs and stands up. He glances over and sees him, eyes now adjusted to the darkness.

Lance makes his way to a cot and sits down heavily. The cot’s old springs protest loudly, and Lance sighs as he reaches an arm to his left and flicks a lamp on.

The sudden light blinds Keith and he immediately screws his eyes shut, bringing up an arm to cower behind it.

“Payback for earlier,” Lance says, voice disheartened and weak, breaking the silence. The tension breaks with his voice, but Keith still feels apprehensive, having just intruded on something infinitely personal. He takes a second to look around the cellar: it’s not a terribly big room - maybe roughly ⅔ the size of the barn. There’s a cot pushed up against the western wall, with a few sleeping bags and pillows haphazardly strewn over it. Despite their semi-destitute state, it looks quite cozy.

There’s an electrical outlet on the wall by the cot, where Lance has plugged in an old music player and the lamp - where the electricity comes from is beyond Keith, though. Along the walls, little shelves that must’ve once stored preserved food and the like, are lined with dry flowers hanging upside down, knicknacks and other valuables. A pang of _something_ hits Keith like a tidal wave - Lance had really tried to make this his home.

“Lance…” he says hesitantly. He doesn’t know how to convey how sorry he is, how much he wishes he could help.

“That was my best friend, Hunk. We were friends since we were basically born, you know. Our moms were pregnant around the same time. Hunk’s only 6 months older than me,” his voice is suddenly breezy, as if babbling will make him feel better. Declutter his chest. Keith says nothing and just listens. “He and I, we went through everything together. He’s like my brother.”

Keith can sympathize, to some degree: He knows how heartbroken he would be if his brother was thought to be dead. And vise versa: if he disappeared on Shiro, how would he take it? How would his friend, Pidge? He glances at Lance apologetically. He must be so lonely and sad and Keith can’t imagine going through this for five fucking years. It’s not fair. “I-I’m sorry. It must be… hard.”

Lance meets his eyes and Keith notices they’re red-rimmed. He shrugs noncommittally, decidedly not talking about it anymore. “Now you’ve got another piece of the Lance McClain puzzle. Time to pay up, bitch.”

 

* * *

 

Lance had really expected Keith’s blood to be like, green or something.

He grabs his favorite little flask, which he’d recovered from the cellar when he’d first taken residence and washed with water from the old well at the edge of the property, off the wall. Keith is holding the switchblade from earlier, looking unconcerned and waiting for Lance. “All right, you ready?” Lance asks, doing his best to make his voice sound as normal as possible.

Hunk’s visit had hit him harder than usual, what with his little impromptu audience. Lance had felt Keith’s eyes on him most of the time, silently wondering, silently pitying. He hates it.

“Done.” Keith says, snapping Lance out of his thought as he lifts his finger, his other hand busying itself by folding the switchblade and slipping it back in its proper pocket at his belt. Already, there’s a thin, though long red line on the pad of his thumb. Lance blinks bewildered. When the _hell_ \-- “C’mon, hand me the flask before I bleed all over your blankets.”

Lance hands him the flask and watches with rapt attention as he holds the mouth of the little bottle to the cut. Buds of scarlet slide down the aged glass and he _still can’t smell_ it, what the fuck.

“That’s good, Keith, holy shit, I said just a few drops would be fine--” Lance says, watching as Keith manages to squeeze roughly a full ounce of blood out of his thumb. The thick liquid sloshes against the flask a little as Keith pulls his finger away and presses the cut to his forefinger, staunching the bleeding.

“I figured it was only fair,” Keith replies quietly, not meeting Lance’s eyes as he hands the flask back. “Since I... You know. Was here for Hunk’s visit, and all.”

Lance purses his lips. “That wasn’t your fault. It was just bad timing. Seems to be kind of a, uh. Running theme around me, I guess. Either way, there’s no reason to drain yourself over it, dude.”

“It’s like, an ounce at the most. I’m sure I’ll survive.” Keith’s tone is sarcastic and dry and Lance can _hear_ the damn eye roll. He rolls his eyes himself before looks at the flask.

It’s so weird - it looks like good old regular blood, and he can feel the fading warmth on his fingers through the glass. And… okay, now that it’s so close to him, out in the open and not confined in Keith’s body, he can sort of smell that familiar rusty scent, but it’s… almost watered down. Like the ghost of the taste you get in your mouth after a bloody nose or after you bite your tongue on accident hard enough. Lance can’t remember a lot of physical sensations from his human life, but he remembers how his taste buds had _hated_ the scent and taste of blood, had found it _revolting_.

The scent of Keith’s blood is a slightly reminiscent of that, in that he can tell it’s blood as clear as he can see it. But the _appeal_ of it… it’s completely missing.

The memories of the one Human Biology class he’d taken junior year of high school to fill up schedule space are hazy at most. He can faintly recall bits and pieces from Mr. Iverson’s lectures on blood types, how despite there being 8 common types, there are truly thousands of variations, some rarer than others.

He’d remembered this particular lesson one day when on his routine weekly hunting trip around The Thicket. The thick scent of a wild boar had reached him just as the much lighter fragrance of a white tailed deer had crossed his path. Both had made his throat burn almost painfully, but in the end, he’d gone for the boar, being much more appetizing, almost without a second thought.

Later, he would think about the implications: though animals don’t share the same chemical makeup humans do, it’s the same concept, isn’t it? It’s something Lance had noticed over time about humans, as well. Some just smell better than others. It’s hard to put it in words, when he thinks about it; but he thinks it might have to do with different blood types and their enzymes or whatever. He hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to really know. And anyway, it's just a hunch, nothing more.

He can feel Keith’s eyes on him, but he can’t be bothered - he tips the jar slowly, the blood inside sloshing against the side. It has started to coagulate, unsurprisingly - the chilly temperature down here would have seen to that.

A thick dollop of blood lands on the open palm of his hand and he inspects it for a second, sniffing it cautiously before he licks it off his hand quickly.

His first thought is that it tastes like water - or at least, what he remembers water tasting like: bland. Tasteless. Like drinking wet air, almost. The rusty tang is barely there. He knows he’s just had a taste of blood, but the dull ache in his throat doesn’t intensify into flaming thirst.

His eyes find Keith, who is looking mildly repulsed, though still curious. “What the hell, Keith? You taste like fucking _water,_ mate. What the fuck kind of bullshit blood is this?”

Keith clears his throat, looking a little sick. “Type Rhnull, actually. One of the rarest? Or so we’ve been told.”

Lance blinks. He had slept through most of Iverson’s lessons, so he has no idea what Keith’s talking about. “Well, whatever the fuck it is, it’s weak as hell. Tasteless.”

“Huh.” Keith mumbles, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, that’s interesting. Blood tastes different?”

“Well, like with food, see,” Lance says, bringing his legs up on the cot, crossing them as he inspects the remaining blood in the flask, thickening with each second as it cools. “It’s like this: try to picture like, the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Like, we’re talking gourmet gruyere, the expensive imported stuff. None of that Kraft Singles processed garbage. Perfectly grilled with a side of tomato basil soup. Imagine the smell before you take that first bite.”

It’s a weird analogy, Lance knows, but Keith nods, egging him on. “Now imagine a room temperature hot dog from like, 7/11. Try to picture _that_ smell.”

“Ugh,” Keith intones, looking grossed out. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Hmmm, maybe that’s not a good enough comparison. The hot dog would be too disgusting for this example…” He takes a second to think. “Okay, how about this one: imagine the godly grilled cheese next to like, a Big Mac from McDonald’s. It smells okay. If you’re hungry enough, you might even say it smells delicious. You know it’s not the best but it will do the trick - it’ll fill you up for a good while. But in the back of your mind, you still want that gourmet grilled cheese, probably made to perfection by fucking Gordon Ramsay himself. The smell wafting off of it is almost sinful. It’s all you can think about.”

He sees Keith swallow thickly, though he remains quiet. “Anyway, most people fall in Big Mac territory. They smell _okay_ but they’re not the best, ya know? But every once in awhile, you find that really good grilled cheese.” Lance continues, grinning at Keith. “Thank god it hasn’t happened in awhile. It’s hard to resist.”

“And…” Keith says tentatively. “Where do I fall in that scenario?”

“Hmmm…” Lance intones. What’s the blandest, most tasteless food he can think of? “Cream of wheat.” he says decidedly after a second. “That shit’s boring as hell. Be glad, though. Your freak blood’s got your back.”

-x-

“Won’t he be suspicious when the stuff he brought you is gone the next time he comes over?”

Lance shakes his head as he picks up the bouquet of pink carnations and white lilies sprinkled with yellow roses. Hunk’s usual. “He’s never questioned it that I know of, so I’m not going to worry about it.” Lance says, collecting the CD case and pictures next to the Ziploc bag full of garlic knots.

“Does he always bring food?” Keith asks curiously.

“Usually. He’s a foodie, see. Cooks or bakes when he needs to distract himself.” He grabs the garlic knots, staring at them fondly. God, he misses Hunk so much, he feels like his chest might burst.

“...What do you do with it?”

Lance gives Keith a strange look. “Eat it. _Duh_.”

Keith blinks as he adjusts his left backpack strap, hitching it higher on his shoulder. “You can eat human food? Really?”

“Yeah?” Lance says, not understanding the confusion. “The venom in my system breaks it down into nothing nearly as soon as I swallow it, though. So it won’t like, sustain me or whatever. But it means I can still enjoy Hunk’s cooking, so that’s all I care about.”

“Huh.” Keith says, speechless. Lance wonders if, after the shock and surprises of the day, the guy is finally going into shock. He wouldn’t blame him.

“Listen, Keef,” Lance says, voice as light as he can make it. He doesn’t want to scare him off. He’s glad his little stunt, banging on the floorboards from down in the cellar, didn’t spook him away. Talking to Keith and getting to vent for the first time in years has been cathartic. “I, uh. Would appreciate it if you didn’t mention that I still exist to anyone?” He purses his lips, his eyes meeting Keith’s dark ones. He’s got his flashlight out again, pointing it at the ceiling; soft light cascades down over them, dim enough to be painless to their dark-accustomed eyes, but light enough to accentuate the sharp angles of Keith’s face. The smooth slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw, the point of his chin, the razor-edged high cheekbones. “Not your badass cop mom or, uh. Whatever fans you might have out there.”

“I don’t have fans.” Keith says, and in the feeble light, Lance thinks he can spot the beginnings of a blush riding up his neck to his cheeks. Why would he be embarrassed?

“Well, whatever you wanna call them. I would rather you keep this on the DL, okay? I don’t want any grilled cheeses running around here.”

If he wasn’t staring at Keith, he might’ve completely missed him shuddering at the thought. “Roger that.”

Arms laden with Hunk’s gifts, he walks Keith to the barn threshold. “Well anyway, this was fun.” He says, a smirk in place. “Maybe next time you can bring like, a laptop. We can have a sleepover movie marathon or something.” he jokes.

But Keith’s eyes are wide and excited. “Next time? So I can come back? Like, that’d be cool? I could bring you some food, too, if you want. And I can totally bring my laptop. We could, uh. Binge movies or something?”

Lance blinks, caught off guard by the sudden excitement in Keith’s voice and eyes. “Yeah, I mean - I kind of figured you’d come back anyway, whether or not I said you could.” he says with a shrug, struggling with the Ziploc bag for a second before successfully opening it. The scent of garlic, butter, and herbs meets his nose, almost overpowering, and he is immediately transported to Hunk’s kitchen; sitting on the counter next to his best friend, passing him spices and ingredients, laughing at stupid memes on Lance’s phone and inside jokes, and dammit, his chest feels like it’s being ripped wide open.

He takes a perfect knot out of the bag carefully, inspecting briefly before he takes a bite, and nearly moans; the flavors on his tongue are so strong, overpowering and delicious. Hunk has really outdone himself. “Oh, _fuck_.” He groans, eyes rolling back a little as he chews and swallows, before taking another bite. “Oh my _god_ , you’ve gotta try one, Keef.” he says around a mouthful, offering the open bag.

Keith, Lance realizes, had quickly averted his gaze as soon as Lance had looked at him. Huh. Maybe the guy really _is_ finally going into shock. “Uh,” he says, straightening up and clearing his throat loudly. “Hunk brought them for _you_. I don’t want to impose.”

“Dude, Thanksgiving is coming up. He always brings me like, two platters-worth then.” He shakes the bag closer to Keith’s face in what he hopes is a tantalizing way. “C’mon, you know you want my knots.” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Keith snorts, shoving his hand in the bag with a truly impressive eye roll. He extracts a slightly deformed knot, the back of his hand covered by his fingerless black gloves dusted in little bits of parmesan. “You’re ridiculous.” he says, but there’s no bite to it. Lance grins.

“Not enough to keep you away, apparently.”

They stand there for a minute, Keith holding his own garlic knot and Lance polishing off his second one. Keith looks like he has something to say, so Lance waits quietly. He’s reaching for his third knot when Keith finally speaks.

“I do have another question, though.”

“I can’t turn into a bat, if that’s what you want to know.” Lance says around a mouthful.

Keith chuckles and Lance grins. It feels good to joke with another person. It’s refreshing. “No,” he says. “I, uh. Just wondered… You know. Since vampires are real, what else is real, too?”

“Like… Ghosts and demons and werewolves and shit?” Lance asks after he swallows a particularly big bite, thinking back to Keith’s equipment, and the original reason for him being out here: ghost hunting.

Keith nods, eyes eager.

Lance grins. What a weeb. “Next time,” he says dismissively, reaching for in the bag again as he turns around, heading back to his cellar slowly. “and don’t forget to eat your damn knot before it gets all stiff.”

He gets a quick look at Keith’s expression as he turns around - a priceless mix of frustration, longing and awe, and honestly, it’s quite adorable.

“Next time, then!” Keith calls out, an almost excited edge to his voice as he opens the barn doors and steps out into the darkness of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance looks up at Keith and feels a strong rush of affection for him, mullet and dark red blush and ghost hunting like Zak Bagans and all, almost overpowering him.
> 
> And that’s when he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here comes the gay train choo choo
> 
> i literally wrote 2/5 of this chapter in under three hours and literally just finished so i'm rly sorry if it's like, full of typos and shit like that. i went over it once so any mistakes left are my bad lol 
> 
> also guess who actually reviewed her outline and decided on 6 chapters plus an epilogue lol it me
> 
>  
> 
> -x- breaks indicate a change in scene, still in the same perspective as the one before it. horizontal lines indicate change in perspective*****

"Keith!”

Keith looks around himself frantically. Where is he?

His eyes take a quick sweep of the surroundings, and the sudden recognition startles him. Even though the trees look unfamiliar, he knows he’s in The Thicket, just a few feet away from Bragg Road.

“Keith!”

He whirls around towards the sound of the voice, fear rising up his chest. He can’t see anything, it’s so dark out here. “Lance?” he hears himself call with uncertainty, and has his voice always sounded so desperate and raw?

" _Keith_!” comes a guttural scream, and Keith feels his feet move under him, jogging blindly in the direction of Lance’s voice calling out to him.

“L-Lance?” he calls out, and his voice sounds like he’s smoked a mile of cigarettes, like he’s been screaming all night.

Dawn peeks out from the heavy tree canopy, and the first few rays of sunshine help illuminate his way. He looks down at his feet, and realizes he’s been unconsciously following a trail of blood, peppering the dirt and the vines at his feet.

Panic bubbles up his throat, his breathing becomes ragged, and he feels like he’s drowning. _Where’s Lance_?

He runs, his lungs burning, legs exhausted. He wants to stop and just _breathe_ but he can’t, not when Lance needs him. He has to find Lance.

The trail of blood opens into a clearing, dark and foreboding. “Lance?” he calls out again, heart in his throat.

The only sounds out here are his labored breathing and hammering heart, though; it’s dead silent otherwise. God, if only he could _see_ where he’s going, what’s in front of him…

The realization that something is wrong hits him like a ton of bricks. His instincts scream at him to leave, to run away. Run, run as fast and as far as his legs will take him.

Though he’s standing in a clearing, the sun’s rays don’t reach, can’t quite penetrate through. The darkness has a thickness to it, and when he tries to lift his feet to move, to do something, _anything_ , it’s like moving through quicksand: the more he fights it, the more the darkness sucks him in, trapping him limb by limb, muscle by muscle.

And just like that, he’s no longer alone.

“ _Keith._ ” Lance purrs into his ear, cool breath fanning over the hair at the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Cold lips travel to the base of his neck where it meets his shoulder and collarbone, inhaling deeply. Keith closes his eyes.

When fangs meet his skin, Keith is no more.

-x-

His own loud gasp is what startles him awake. Keith sits up much too fast, heart pounding painfully against his chest, eyes wide. He brings up a shaking hand to his forehead, wiping perspiration from his brow as he takes a deep breath, trying to calm his frazzled nerves.

_Just a dream. Only a dream, nothing more._

His alarm goes off then, startling him half to death. “Christ…” he groans, reaching for his phone plugged in to his charger on the bedside table.

The screen alerts him that if he doesn’t get out of bed in the next five or so minutes, Shiro will undoubtedly hog the shower before he gets his own turn.

He peels his covers off, throwing them aside as he swings his legs tiredly over the edge of the bed; he glares at the fall morning sunlight peeking through the open blinds - surely, the evil, wretched work of his mother.

His hand unconsciously reaches for the crook where his neck meets his shoulder, rubbing absently. He’d barely been able to sleep, mind running in tireless, mad loops, not quite believing what he’d experienced had been real. He still can’t wrap his mind around it; the existence of vampires and possibly otherworldly beings. Looking around his room, it hardly seems possible. Everything is exactly the same; nothing out of place since he’d come back late at night and dumped his equipment on the battered loveseat by the bay window, nothing disrupted. Yet, there’s something off.

Keith knows nothing has technically changed. Not physically, anyway. The leaves outside are still orange and yellow. The temperature still as cold as it gets in the fall in Eastern Texas. He still has work in an hour. Even so, there’s a change - subtle, but still persistently there. 

He sighs tiredly as he stands up and heads for the shower. Time to face the day.

-x-

“How late were you out last night?” Shiro asks conversationally over a bowl of raisin bran as Keith makes his way into the kitchen, fresh clothes on and hair damp from his shower. “I didn’t even hear you get home.”

“I dunno,” Keith says, walking past his brother sitting at the breakfast bar, immediately heading for the mug cabinet above the sink. “Pretty late. After 3 am, I think it was.”

Shiro hums noncommittally. “Get anything good?”

“Um,” Keith clears his throat, pouring himself coffee, his back to Shiro. He hopes his falter isn’t noticeable. “Nah, it was a total bust.” he says, voice as steady as he can make it. He grabs a spoon from the drawer next to the stove.

“Huh. Well, that’s a shame. Maybe next time, right? Creamer’s on the table, by the way.” he says around a mouthful of cereal, pointing at it with his spoon. Keith turns to face him and reaches for the creamer.  

“Yeah, I’m actually thinking of going back,” he says in his most casual tone, stirring his coffee with the spoon. “see if I can catch something good this time around.”

Shiro glances up at him, eyebrow quirked. “You want to go back? After a bust?” Keith can feel Shiro’s calculating gaze on him. He takes a tentative sip of his coffee, hiding his face behind his mug. “You really think it’s worth the time and gas?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, pursing his lips and fighting the blush he knows is crawling up his neck. “It’s worth it.”

-x-

The fifteen minute bike ride is incredibly soothing.

Motorcycle rides in the fall are Keith’s favorite thing in the entire world. He can feel the cool wind slipping through the underside of his helmet visor, the scent of wet earth and slowly rotting leaves sweet in his nose, the loud rumble of the engine comfortable under him.

The drive to work is a particularly fast one; Liberty, Texas isn’t exactly known for its hub of popularity and long traffic jams. Thankfully, at 8:15 am on a Sunday, the roads are pretty empty save for a few straggler cars here and there.

As he drives, his mind wanders: what’s Lance doing right now? Is he just sitting in his cot, listening to the CD Hunk had brought him last night on repeat, looking over the pictures for the thousandth time, playing around with his old knicknacks? Wandering The Thicket alone? The thought sends an uncomfortable pang through Keith’s chest and he makes a mental note to bring extra content to keep Lance occupied when he visits again.

He gets to the little strip mall in record time, parking his bike in the same slot as usual. The parking lot is desolate, with most people still sleeping or at church. If it’s an easy enough shift, he might even get to go home early.

Backpack slung over one shoulder and motorcycle helmet under one arm, Keith locks his bike up and makes his way inside Holt’s Hack-Shack. The store, though modestly-sized, is nestled cozily between a used video game store and the one Little Caesars in town. There are two people by the power supply shelf and as Keith walks by, he catches the middle of a spirited debate on the pros and cons of Corsair products versus Thermaltake.

“Morning, boss.” Keith intones when he gets near the counter, bypassing it to head to the back to put his stuff away.

There’s a sharp inhale, and suddenly, Pidge, his tiny, nerdy gremlin of a boss and best friend, looks up from their computer at breakneck speed, arm shooting out to stop him. “Where have you been?!” they demand, hopping off their stool as they approach Keith with a reproachful look.

Keith blinks, bewildered. He shoots the clock on the wall a quick, paranoid look before raising an eyebrow at Pidge. “Uh. Home?” he says with uncertainty. Keith is many things, but a bad employee has never been one of them. Hell, today he’s even _early_ \- his shift doesn’t start for another half an hour. What was he supposed to have done this time?

“Wrong,” Pidge sasses, eyebrow raised petulantly. “You’ve been living it up with--” they look around to make sure the patrons aren’t paying them any attention, lowing their voice. “ _With a real fucking vampire and you didn’t tell me._ ”

Keith feels his stomach drop. How the hell? “I-- Pidge--”

“Don’t you ‘ _I--Pidge--’_ me!” they snap quietly and Keith purses his lips, anxiety coiling in his gut. “Or did you forget your camera footage is linked directly to my cloud?”

He almost drops his helmet, eyes widening. How could he fucking forget? But then… “Wait,” he says, lowering his voice, wracking his brain desperately. “I...didn’t film any of it.”

Pidge snorts, eyes rolling behind round glasses as they cross their arms over their chest. “You do know you actually have to press the power button to turn the camera off, right?” they retort, their tone heavy with sarcasm. “It doesn’t just magically turn off if you set it down somewhere?”

Keith groans under his breath. Of course. _Of course_ he’d fucked up his promise before he’d even made it. He has to actually fight back the urge to hit himself on the face with his helmet as hard as he can. God, he’s the _worst._

Thankfully, the only two patrons in the store choose that very moment to walk up to the counter (Corsair contender seems to have won the power supply debate, it seems) to check out. Pidge gives him a warning look as they ring up the items, and Keith slips into the back before they can stop him again.

Once in the backroom, Keith sets his stuff down in his designated shelf, and takes a deep breath, working to get his mind around his current predicament: Pidge, his boss and best friend, tech extraordinaire, and literally the single most terrifying person he can think of, knows about Lance.

Pidge, who unofficially and off-the-record hacks for the FBI as a favor to his mother. Pidge, who “can’t and won’t” say if they’re a part of Anonymous (they are - their brother Matt had confirmed). Pidge knows about Lance and about vampires and _oh god, Pidge fucking knows about Lance._

There’s a part of his brain telling him to calm the hell down, to sit down and think about it: how bad could it be? Pidge is the smartest person Keith knows. Probably the smartest person on the planet, truth be told. Even so, the mere idea of them with information like that… Well, it’s an alarming thought.

And, well. That’s not the only thing bothering him, of course. He had fully intended on keeping Lance’s secret - taking it to the grave with him if that’s what it would have taken. He had felt special, even: in the five years Lance has been hiding out in the old farm, Keith had been the first person he’d confided in, the first person he had shown himself to and shared his secret with. Keith had gone and ruined that, right from the beginning. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. Well, what’s done is done. No way to take it back.

“All right, nerd,” Pidge’s voice says from behind as they walk in the backroom, green eyes behind the round glasses excited. “Spill.”

“The store?” Keith says, voice defeated. There’s no way to stop what’s coming, but he can’t help trying.

“Closed sign’s up. This takes precedence. Start talking.” they say, jerking their head towards the little sitting area in the corner with the couch and the mini fridge. “I want details.”

“Listen, Pidge,” Keith says, plopping down heavily on the old, worn sofa. The old spring that sticks out no matter how much you rearrange the cushions digs into his asscheek unpleasantly, and he shifts uncomfortably. “This is extremely sensitive information and it doesn’t leave this room, okay?”

And really, he doesn’t know what he was expecting. Pidge rolls their eyes so dramatically Keith is worried they’ll give themselves whiplash. “Is your brain short-circuiting? Or did you forget that I literally hack shit every other day for your _FBI agent mom_? I know what a non-disclosure agreement is, thanks.”

 _You got me there,_  Keith wants to say. Instead, he runs his hands over his face and his hair with a sigh. “How much did you hear?”

“Camera battery died right as he called you an alien.” Pidge says, hopping up on the stool next to the couch, facing Keith. “So start talking, I wanna know what happened after. Did he bite you? Are you a vampire too?"

Keith takes a deep breath, hunches his shoulders miserably, and tells Pidge everything they’d missed. Pidge sits quietly, absorbing the information like a sponge.

“Oh my god, you actually watched him eat your blood?” Pidge interrupts, looking a little green. “Dude. That’s _sick_. And kinky.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Says the asexual. Plus it wasn’t like that, I told you. He was just... intrigued because he couldn’t smell me.” he mumbles dejectedly.

Pidge purses their lips, eyebrows pinched in what Keith has come to associate with their thinking face. “You know, maybe he’s on to something,” they say thoughtfully. “especially if your blood didn’t smell like anything to him… well, it _does_ kind of make sense, doesn’t it?”

Keith blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, this is just a hypothesis,” they say, and Keith sits up straighter, eyes on them. Pidge has a long history of hypothesis and theories being correct. “But Lance said most people’s blood have a distinctive scent, right? He even used that weird food analogy? Which-” Pidge makes a face. “that’s kind of disturbing, by the way. But think about it, Keith - what makes your blood so special?”

“Its type.” Keith responds automatically. “Rhnull.”

“Right. And what’s Rhnull known for? Aside from being a freak genetic mutation, of course.”

Realization dawns on Keith then, and his eyes widen. “Wait… are you saying you think Lance can smell blood _antigens_?”

“Just a hypothesis,” Pidge repeats. “I can’t really be sure without running a few tests first.”

“He said I tasted bland, like water. He compared my blood to cream of wheat.” Keith recalls, his mind’s eye back on the farm, down in the chilly cellar with the knicknacks on the wall and the old cot.

Pidge grins, snorting back a laugh and bringing Keith back. “Somehow not surprising in the least.”

“Focus up, Pidge.” Keith glares, chagrined. “This is serious.”

“Right, right. Sorry. Anyway,” they clear their throat crossing their arms over their chest. “I think it’s plausible he can smell antigens. Taste them, too, if he said you didn't taste like anything. Your blood lacks antigens, therefore it lacks taste and smell. See what I mean? But it’s a moot point if we can’t prove it any of it, of course.” they hop off from their stool, stretching their arms behind their back. Keith runs his hands over his hair.

He’d thought he’d feel guilty after telling Pidge everything, having just betrayed Lance’s secret. The truth of the matter is that he feels lighter, like an invisible weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying had been lifted off his chest, no longer pressing on his lungs uncomfortably.

“All right, enough slacking off,” Pidge says, bumping Keith’s shoulder playfully as they head back to the front. “C’mon, let’s get to work.”

-x-

When Keith finally gets home that evening, he sends a quick thanks to the universe - Shiro isn’t home, probably still at the gym with Matt, and he knows his mom is still working an important case at H.Q. in Houston and won’t be back any time soon.

Parking his bike in the garage, he nearly runs inside the darkening house. It’s almost 5:30 - the drive to Saratoga is around 30 minutes, and by the time he makes a food run… well, it’ll be awhile before he gets there.

When he gets to his room, he makes a beeline for his closet, dumping his work backpack on the old loveseat in the corner.

He grabs his gym duffle bag off of its usual hook, zipping it open before flipping it upside down. A wide variety of MMA gear - towels, a few pairs of gym shorts, shin guards, mouthguards, punch mitts that are ripping in places, sweat-stained handwraps, and his favorite red combat gloves, gifted to him by mom - all tumble out onto the floor. He’ll deal with the mess later.

He goes around his room, collecting things to bring to Lance and shoving them into his bag - his CD binder case, the latest (and some oldies but goodies) issues of Doom Patrol, Rat Queens, and Bitch Planet, his old 2DS and a few games he never reaches for anymore, a spare wifi router, a burner phone he’d gotten from the Hack-Shack earlier, and his old laptop.

He’s about to close up the bag when he remembers the old cot, with the ripped threadbare blankets folded neatly against flat pillows. A comforter that was really a sleeping bag.

Mind made up, he marches to his bed, snatching the two fluffiest pillows before he heads to the linen closet in the hall - he knows his mom keeps extra blankets in there, freshly laundered.

Excitement coiling in his gut, he locks the door behind him and walks out to his car with purpose in his step.

* * *

Lance is on his 10th run of the playlist (titled _ThE sUpEr DuPeR aWeSoMeLy cOoL mIx By LaNcE aNd HuNk_ , he remembers - he and Hunk had spent the summer after 6th grade carefully crafting the perfect playlist that encapsulated their personalities and friendship, and truly, it’s still a masterpiece, even after all these years.) when he hears an engine outside. He sits up and stops his music player, turning the light off.

He closes his eyes and takes a big whiff.

The first scent that hits him is the hay sitting upstairs, a dry and itchy sort of smell that makes his nose twitch uncomfortably. The next scent he registers is a white-tailed deer, prancing close by the farm. His throat prickles in response, and he swallows thickly. He had a pretty successful hunting trip just a few days ago so he knows he’s not really thirsty, per say - more than anything, it’s his body’s automatic response to the scent.

He moves on from the deer, breathing in deeper. And… there it is. The woody scent of aftershave or maybe deodorant, he can’t be sure. Deliciously sweet and non-edible. The scent of human without the appeal - cream of wheat has come back to visit.

Lance opens his eyes, grinning. He gets to see Keith again, the weird ghost dude with the freak blood. The hot, better-looking version of Gerard Way. He reaches over to turn his lamp and music back on, knowing there’s nothing to worry about. He glances over at the little crate he’d found upstairs and is now serving as a makeshift bedside table. The little flask of blood is sitting there, innocently, where they’d left it yesterday.

After Keith had left, Lance had stayed awake a few more hours, thinking precariously about the events that had just unfolded - the panic he had felt after Keith had driven off. He had just told a random stranger he knew nothing about that he’s alive, that he’s a vampire. That he’s been staying in the Thicket the entire time. _Oh god what the hell had he been thinking_?

Of course, the panic had passed as quickly as it had come - Keith had promised him he would keep his secret - wouldn’t tell a single soul about his existence. He had no reason to, but he didn’t doubt Keith. Something about him told Lance his secret is safe.

He can hear Keith approaching now, close enough that his hearing can pick up the soft footfalls against the dying leaves and the rustle of the wind. He can feel excitement building up in his chest as he climbs up the stairs two at a time, throwing the trapdoor open.

The barn looks just like it did yesterday, just more… abandoned than usual. How weird. He’d spent no more than two hours with Keith sitting in this dusty, cobwebbed-filled room, and now that he’s not in it, it feels empty.

He slips out of the double barn doors and leans against the wall as he waits for Keith to meet him there.

It takes him maybe two minutes; he rounds the corner as Lance is pushing off the wall, and they’re so, _so_ close all of a sudden, Lance can see the little dimple on his right cheek, each individual eyelash, each strand of hair. He can smell the sandalwood and patchouli of his aftershave, or maybe his cologne. And… Oh, god. Is that… is that an honest-to-god _mullet_?

“Fuck!” Keith yelps, arms windmilling frantically as he tries to juggle his burden, jumping back a couple of feet.

Lance sniffs the air and catches the whiff of frying oil and beef from the bulging bags in his arms. “Well well well, look what the mullet dragged in…”

The death glare coming his way would be much more threatening, Lance thinks, if he couldn’t see the blush on Keith’s face, or hear his heartbeat as loud as he can. He grins, disbelieving. “Oh, God. No wonder you were wearing a beanie yesterday. It was strategically there to hide this hideous haircut, huh?” He chortles, reaching out to pull on a few strands softly.

“Don’t make me regret coming back,” Keith mumbles, adorable kitten-like anger still etched on his brow. “Let’s go inside, I brought you some stuff.”

“Aww, Keef! You brought me presents? You really shouldn’t have.”

Keith shoves him playfully with his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and makes his way to the barn entrance. Lance follows suit, noticing the black duffle bag with the words ‘The Garrison MMA’ etched in red thread on the side.

“MMA?” he says curiously, motioning to it with a jerk of his head.

“Huh?” Keith says, pushing the barn doors open. He glances down at the duffle bag. “Oh, uh. Yeah. My brother and I train together at the local gym.”

“Dude,” Lance says, following Keith inside the dark (for Keith, his eyes are just fine in this light) barn. “That’s rad. Can you show me a few moves?”

“Uh,” Keith clears his throat. “Sure, I can teach some good moves.” He stops at the trapdoor, and, arms laden with stuff, he waits for Lance to open it for them. “We can do that after I show you everything I brought you.”

-x-

Lance has always been quick to fall in love. He remembers Allura from high school clearly - he had been a freshman and she had been a senior and into someone else who was much cooler and much more popular than him. But she had looked at him once in math class, asked him if he had an extra pencil, and her eyes had been so pretty, and her hair all dyed platinum and _cool_ and she had smiled at him so sweetly. He hadn’t been able to help the monster, massive crush he’d developed on her immediately.

Then, there had been Nyma. She’d been a year older and dating one of the stoners that hung out under the bleachers at the football field, but _god_ , she had been so pretty, with a flirty smile and mischievous eyes. He’d thought she’d thought he was special. Of course, he had been wrong - she’d flirted with him to get free drinks from the coffee shop he’d worked at the summer before Junior year, and had told him as much, when he’d tried asking her out the first week back to school. That’d sucked.

Florona had been after Nyma, his senior year of high school. She’d been in his biology class, sitting a few rows away from him, beautiful and unattainable. Her sister, Plaxum (he’d always thought they had weird names, but then, who was he to judge? - he’s Cuban and his last name is Scottish.) had come after. She’d been his lab partner in that same biology class, had helped him understand the notes and the labs.

So, Lance has experience knowing when he’s starting to catch the infatuation bug. It goes as fast as it comes, usually nothing to worry about, gone within a few weeks, maybe a few months.

But right now, looking on as Keith sets the bags of takeout on a little table Lance’d found at a dumpster two summers ago and his duffle bag next to his cot, Lance feels his heart stir in a way it never has before.

“I, um. Didn’t know what you liked, so I kind of got a little of everything? Since you said you still like to eat human food. We’ve got French fries, onion rings--” he names as he takes out styrofoam container after styrofoam container, setting them on the table in a makeshift tower. “Cheeseburger, bacon cheeseburger, patty melt, chicken tenders, steak fingers…”

“Jesus, Keith,” Lance says with a chuckle. “You got enough to feed a fucking battalion!”

Keith shrugs easily. “Some of it is for me, too. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“Well then, why didn’t you lead with that? Fuck, you must be starving. C’mon, let’s chow down.”

So they sit down and they devour the food with a truly ravenous fury. They go through maybe half of it, when Keith stands up and heads for the duffle bag. “I also brought some stuff to keep you entertained. I can’t imagine living isolated without something to fucking do, man. You must get so damn _bored._ ”

Lance shrugs, polishing the last of his bacon cheeseburger in one bite. “I used to,” he says around a mouthful. “Now I just mostly sleep or listen to the few CDs I have. Sometimes I rearrange my knicknacks.”

“Right, well, speaking of that,” Keith says, beckoning him over. Lance shoves a handful of fries in his mouth and makes his way over to him, curiosity burning in his eyes. “I got you some pillows and a few extra blankets. It’s getting colder and these ones you have are really thin.”

And, well. Lance had definitely not expected _that_ , not in the least. He looks at the blankets - a thick, fuzzy one with a lot of blue and what he thinks might be a lioness (hard to tell with it folded up) printed on it, standing tall on a rock overlooking a valley, and a faded red one that seems to be a galaxy print, a lot less fuzzy but still cozy and warm.

“Keith…” He says, at a loss for words. He touches a hand to the red blanket as he sits down next to Keith on the cot. He wonders if it used to belong to a younger Keith. “You… you really didn’t have to, man.”

“I know,” Keith mumbles. “I wanted to.”

Lance looks up at Keith and feels a strong rush of affection for him, mullet and dark red blush and ghost hunting like Zak Bagans and all, almost overpowering him.

And that’s when he knows.

-x-

“So this,” Keith is explaining, holding up a little round device. “Is a portable wifi router. I use these during investigations. It’ll provide you internet,” he says, putting it down as he reaches for the laptop in the bag. “Which you can access from this laptop. It’s an old one I don’t use and was planning on getting rid of anyway.” he says, setting it down on the bed along with its charger. “Since you have electricity out here somehow, I thought I’d help you keep connected to the world. Plus, there’s Netflix.”

Lance is sitting on the cot, hugging the red blanket to his chest tightly, holding on to his new phone, as Keith explains each item in the duffle bag. “Can we watch something?” he asks, feeling uncharacteristically shy. Keith showering him with presents makes him feel strangely vulnerable - though thankful. “After you’re done explaining. I wanna watch a movie. I haven’t watched a movie in _five fucking years,_ dude.”

So they clean up - Lance puts the CD case - which, what the hell, he has so much new music to listen to, he’s so damn _excited_ \- next to his CD player, the 2DS and game cartridges on the little shelf above his bed next to the comics Keith had also brought (fucking _comics_. Lance can’t even make fun of Keith for being such a damn nerd because, hell, _he’s excited about them, too_.)

Eventually, they end up on the cot, which is definitely not big enough for the two of them, with the laptop propped up on the table, the lights dimmed, and the volume turned up. The new pillows Keith’d brought are perfect for reclining in against the wall, almost like a couch. Lance hogs the red blanket, and Keith takes the other one, and Lance thinks he could get used to this.

They go through a few movies and a few episodes of Parks and Recreation before Keith clears his throat. “Hey, um… Lance…”

“Hmmm?” Lance hums noncommittally, eyes on the laptop screen.

“Remember… How yesterday you asked me not to tell anyone? About you?”

That certainly grabs his attention. “Yeah?” he says, glancing at Keith with an eyebrow raised.

Keith tells Lance then, about his friend Pidge and about the yesterday’s investigation being linked to Pidge’s computer cloud through the camera because they help him edit footage, and Lance understands, he really does. It’s not like he had _meant_ to... “So… You friend knows?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm. “And… Are they… you know. Trustworthy?”

“Other than my brother and my mom, Pidge is the only person I would trust with my life.” Keith says resolutely. Lance eyes him warily for a second, thinking it over before shrugging. If it’s good enough for Keith, it’s good enough for him. “All right. That’s fine, then.” he says, turning back to the screen.

“R-really?” Keith asks, shifting in place on the cot. “You’re not - you’re not upset?”

Lance shrugs. “You say they’re trustworthy. I don’t have a reason to doubt you yet. If you trust them, then I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Seriously, Pidge does hack work for my mom. They unofficially work for the FBI - they’re good at keeping things confidential. It’ll be fine.” he says, and Lance believes him wholeheartedly, he does.

“Okay,” he says, snuggling his cheek on Keith’s shoulder. “Now hush, I’m trying to watch this damn Freddy Spaghetti concert.” he says. Keith chuckles and they both lapse back into comfortable silence, the air surrounding them suddenly more clear and fresher than before.

-x-

He falls asleep somewhere between April and Andy getting married and the Harvest Festival, he’s not quite sure, the episodes and characters and words blending together as consciousness leaves him.

He wakes up late at night (or early morning, it’s hard to tell) with dark tufts of hair tickling his nose, the laptop screen long-turned off, and he feels right at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it really a klance if we don't shit on keith's hair at some point though????????
> 
> come chat with me on the tumbler if ya want!!! @lucari0s


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith looks around the table - his brother, serving them cheesecake with a cheerful grin on his face. His mom, with her tired eyes and her soft smile. The picture of his dad his mom had propped up on the table like she did every time they had family dinner, clad in his firefighter’s uniform. His family.
> 
> He feels his heart lurch sadly, thinking of Lance again, alone in his cellar, isolated from the people he loves.
> 
> Not for long, if he can help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ouran high school host club theme* kiss kiss fall in love
> 
> also hey i know this is kind of a choppy chapter but i wrote it in the span of two days whilst in horrendous pain but i hope it's still enjoyable
> 
> we're nearing the end here, peeps. just one more chapter (!!!! when did that happen omg) and the epilogue. oh and can i just say, you guys are so sweet omg i love all your comments and sweet words and oof y'all make me wanna cry thANK YOU SM <33333
> 
> also, this is heavily unedited bc of who i am as a person lmao sorry
> 
>  
> 
> -x- breaks indicate a change in scene, still in the same perspective as the one before it. horizontal lines indicate change in perspective*****

“So, wanna do something tonight?” Shiro asks as he and Keith make their way out of the gym, heavy duffle bags slung over their shoulders. “We could watch a movie or something. Play some Resident Evil?”

“Sorry, can’t.” Keith says, fishing his phone out of his bag. He purses his lips, holding back a smile at the multitude of text messages flooding his notifications. “I, uh, got plans.”

“Damn,” Shiro says as he unlocks the car and opens the back passenger door. “That’s too bad. I feel like I don’t see you anymore, you’re always so busy nowadays. Hanging with Pidge a lot?” he asks, shoving the gym bag in the back before sliding in the driver’s seat.

“Um, yeah,” he says, knowing Pidge will cover for him if Shiro was to ask them. He gets in the car, his duffle bag at his feet, and unlocks his phone, pulling up his text messages.

_(5:09 PM) oh my god_

_(5:09 PM) okay so_

_(5:11 PM) first of all, texting is weird_

_(5:11 PM) i haven’t done it in so long i forgot how phones work omg_

_(5:12 PM) is this is how old people feel about technology in general oh my goD am i an old person now_

_(5:15 PM) second of all i understand the zak bagans-emo-goth vibe now that i’ve gone through some of the cds you brought me_

_(5:16 PM) can’t deny i’m grooving to the one titled “for when no one understands” tho lmao nice playlist name btw_

_(5:22 PM) why aren’t you responding :(_

_(5:22 PM) keef D:_

 

Keith rolls his eyes fondly and looks at the clock on the dashboard - it’s been less than ten minutes since the last text. He opens up his messages and types a quick response back.

 

_(5:30 PM) I was sparring at the gym, calm down._

_(5:30 PM) also, shut up, I stand by that playlist, even if I made it when I was 16._

He sends the messages, locks his phone screen, and looks up to find Shiro giving him a strange, though knowing look. “What?” he asks, wondering if he’d missed something he’d just said.

“Oh my god.” his brother says, voiced awed. “You’re dating someone.”

Keith sputters incoherently and feels his face redden. “I-- N-- I mean--- W-what?!” he finally gets out. “W-why would you think that?”

“I dunno,” Shiro says, sticking the key in the ignition and starting the car. “You’ve been gone a lot. Plus I just saw you straight up smile at your phone with the single most besotted look I’ve ever seen on your face.”

Keith looks away, fighting the blush oh his face. “Maybe I was looking at a meme. You don’t know know my life.” he says, knowing the defensive tone in his voice isn’t helping his case.

Shiro snorts as he throws the car in reverse and backs out of his parking space. “You know dating is a normal part of living a healthy adult life, right? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not embarrassed, because I’m not dating anyone, Shiro.” Keith says, voice flat. But then he feels his phone vibrate and unlocks it at record speed to read Lance’s response.

_(5:35 PM) that’s hot lol_

_(5:35 PM) the sparring thing, not the 16 year old keef thing_

_(5:36 PM) also hey you never showed me any sweet ass moves_

_(5:36 PM) should i call u sensei_

_(5:37 PM) sensei keef_

Keith snorts at his phone, sending Lance a few responses and assuring him he’ll be there tonight and show him some basic techniques then. Pursing his lips, he looks up and notices Shiro is giving him the famous side-eye that tells him he knows Keith is full of shit.

Keith scowls and stuffs his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants. “Not a fucking word, Shiro.”

His brother chuckles, and Keith thinks it might not be as annoying if maybe he really _had_ a boyfriend.

-x-

The next few weeks seem to fly by. His viewers had started to question when the next investigation would be taking place, and it had made Keith nervous. The footage from his first day at the farm is mostly unusable, what with Lance contaminating the investigation half-way through with his interruption. Of course, he could always head down to the next location in his itinerary: the Spaghetti Warehouse in Houston.

In the end, though, he’d ended up just re-shooting at the farm, with Lance aware of what he was up to this time.  And though his goal had always been to share his true experiences with the paranormal with the world, he (and Lance) had been hoping that the lack of phenomena at the farm would keep people away. So far, it seems to be working.

Hunk had visited again, two weeks after Keith and Lance had met. Keith had missed this visit, thankfully - but when he had shown up again the next night, Lance was still in a melancholy mood, missing his best friend and listening to the playlist Hunk had brought him over and over.

Keith had suggested he tell Hunk about himself - Lance could smell Hunk from his cellar whenever he visited - what would meeting him face to face be so different about it? But Lance had resolutely refused, fear in his eyes, and had yet to budge whenever Keith had proposed the idea.

He knows though, that Lance would be happier if he could just tell Hunk his secret, bring him back into his life; but he also knows Lance is terrified of making a lethal mistake. Hunk doesn’t smell like cream of wheat, and being so close to a human like that… Well, it might not work too well.

“So I was thinking I might want to come with you next time you visit your vampire boyfriend.” Pidge says, breaking Keith out of his reflection.

Keith’s head jerks up from the SD cards he’d been restocking. “Y-you want to meet Lance?”

Pidge shrugs and continues counting the till at the register. The _Closed_ sign had gone up 20 minutes ago, and now they’re both enjoying the empty store as Pidge plays something indie low on the speakers. “Why wouldn’t I? Dude’s a vampire. ‘Course I wanna meet him.”

“I know, but…” Keith sighs biting the inside of his cheek anxiously. “I don’t know if Lance is ready to meet other people.”

“Okay, two things,” Pidge says, looking up from the register. Keith raises an eyebrow, waiting.  “One: promise I’ll behave. Also, you kind of owe me because I gave you three weekends in a row just to go see him.” and, okay, Keith thinks, pursing his lips. Pidge has a point. He wouldn’t have been able to keep his regular visits to the farm if it wasn’t for the time off Pidge had suddenly decided to generously grant him. “Do you know how crazy it gets on fucking Friday and Saturday when there’s only one person here? It’s horrible. And two,” they grin toothily and Keith frowns. Whatever is coming can’t be good. “You didn’t deny he’s your boyfriend.”

He knows his face is on fire. He can feel it, radiating off of him as if he were a furnace. He turns back to the SD cards, glaring as if they’d personally offended him. “Okay, well. Let me do it now: he’s not my boyfriend. He’s… just a dude I know.”

“ _'_ _Just a dude you know’_? I’ve known you since we were kids, Keith. I can sadly tell when you _like-like_ someone.” Keith groans, feeling like a middle schooler, glad his face is turned away from Pidge because holy god, he cannot stand this right now. “C’mon, you hang out with the guy every other night.”

“It’s not like that, Pidge.” Keith bites out, refusing to turn around as he fights the urge to bury his head in the box of SD cards at his feet.

“Would you drive half an hour every day to see _me_ if I was up there?”

“Maybe, _if you were a vampire._ ” he says, briefly glancing pointedly at Pidge before he turns back to the shelf. His stomach is twisting in on itself nervously though, because. Well. He’s not stupid, nor is he blind.

Lance is _really_ attractive.

Attractive in the sort of way that makes Keith’s toes curl when smiles at him, makes his heart beat a little faster when he gets a text from him. Attractive in the way his palms sweat with anticipation even in the October chill. The way he feels a blush every time Lance forgets personal space and leans against him when they watch movies down in the cellar.

And Keith isn’t an oblivious gay - he _knows_ he’s crushing _hard_ on his hot vampire friend. It’s irrelevant, however - he’s there to help Lance, not to get laid.

“Whatever,” Pidge says, and Keith remembers he’s still at the store. He blinks a few times to focus his eyes and bends back down to collect a more SD cards in his arms. “So, can I come with you?”

Pidge meeting Lance. The thought of the two of them in one room sends an unpleasant chill down his spine. “I don’t know, Pidge. Lemme think about it, okay? I’ve also gotta make sure it’s okay with Lance. Don’t wanna spring a little gremlin on him out of nowhere. He might finally lose it.”

“Hmmm. Good point,” Pidge says as they finish up and start decluttering the counter, putting receipts away under the desk. “When are you planning to go up again, anyway?”

“Uh, tomorrow night, I think. Can’t tonight, mom’s back from Houston and she wants to have family dinner.” he says. He lifts the box in his arms and starts heading to the back. It’s time to go home.

“Well, let me know, will you? I can close up the store early if I come with. It’s not like Sundays are ever busy anyway.” they say, coming up behind him as they start collecting their own belongings.

“Will do, Pidgeon.” he says, shrugging his jacket on before he grabs his helmet and his backpack, and walks out of the store.

-x-

“Oh god,” Keith hears Krolia sigh as she sits down on the chair at the head of the table. “It feels so damn good to be home.”

“Good to have you back, mom.” Shiro says, placing the glass dish containing his lasagna on the table. He kisses her forehead and sits down on her left side. Keith enters the dining room holding a bowl of salad and places it next to the lasagna. He also drops a kiss on his mom’s forehead.

“We missed you.” he says as he sits down on her right.

“My boys,” she says fondly, reaching out to grasp his and Shiro’s hand. “I missed you both, too.”

They dig in then, enjoying Shiro’s lasagna and each other’s company.

“Time for desert!” his brother says once they’re done, standing up and taking the three plates back to the kitchen.

“Thank you, love,” Krolia says to Shiro before she turns to Keith. “You’ve been quiet, hon. Something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Keith intones, surprised to be put on the spot. He really shouldn’t be, though - he knows his mom, like Shiro and Pidge, can read him like a book. “Oh, uh. No, nothing, really. Just… Had a busy few weeks.” he says dismissively.

“Yeah, Shiro mentioned that earlier.” she says, nodding. She’s giving him a look like she knows there’s more, and Keith is the biggest momma’s boy there is, god. It’s kind of embarrassing.

“Well…” he says, pursing his lips as he tries to find a way to word what he wants to say without giving too much away. “There _is_ something.”

Krolia sits up, the tiredness gone from her eyes, attention solely on Keith.

“I, uh. Made this friend about three and a half weeks ago.” he says quietly, though he knows Shiro is probably listening, huge ass gossip he is. “And he’s, um. Estranged from his family and his friends. I was just thinking how sad that is, now that you’re home and stuff. It’s been hard enough having you constantly in and out of the house for the last two months. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for him the last few years.”

Krolia’s calculating gaze turns to sympathy and she reaches out to squeeze his hand. “You tell your friend he’s welcomed to stay with us anytime, okay?” she says firmly and god, Keith loves his mom so much, he’s so lucky.

“I will, mom. Thanks.” he says, giving her a crooked smile, squeezing her hand back. Shiro decides to leave the kitchen, then, arms laden with the cheesecake Keith had not been allowed to touch that morning, plates, and utensils. Keith wants to glare at his brother, he really does - he had been listening, undoubtedly, but he can’t find it in himself to do so right now.

Keith looks around the table - his brother, serving them cheesecake with a cheerful grin on his face. His mom, with her tired eyes and her soft smile. The picture of his dad his mom had propped up on the table like she did every time they had family dinner, clad in his firefighter’s uniform. His family.

He feels his heart lurch sadly, thinking of Lance again, alone in his cellar, isolated from the people he loves.

Not for long, if he can help it.

-x-

“Listen, he’ll probably be able to tell you’re with me as soon as we get out of the car, so I need you to stay behind me the entire time, okay?” Keith says, glancing sideways at Pidge for a second before he looks back at the road again.

“I thought you were going to ask him if I could come.” Pidge says, fiddling with their seatbelt, and for the first time, he can almost hear a nervous lilt to their tone.

Keith sighs. “Right. About that...” he purses his lips guiltily. “I, uh. Didn’t tell him. I know if I had asked, he would have said no, so I didn’t bother.”

“....O-kay... Why did you say I could come, then?”

“Because,” Keith says, changing lanes. “I want to help him and I know talking to other people would be good for him. Maybe help him see that he can be around other humans without going all Dracula on them.”

“So what you’re saying--” Pidge says bluntly. “Is that I’m your guinea pig?”

“I mean, that’s kind of a crude way of thinking about it, but I guess so, yeah.”

The rest of the drive, Pidge insists on playing their own music because, “I might die in the next hour, dammit. I wanna listen to my favorite playlist.”

So they both listen to Pidge’s metal collection (basically Avenged Sevenfold’s entire discography) even after Keith had tried assuring Pidge it would be fine, that they weren’t going to die, stop being so melodramatic.

They eventually get to the farm and Keith parks his car in its usual spot. He slides out of the car, bags of food in his arms again. He sees Pidge take a deep breath and hop out of their seat, biting their lip as they look around the farm.

“C’mon,” Keith says, jerking his head in the direction of the barn, visible in the moonlight. “Let’s go. And remember, stay behind me, okay? Just in case.”

“Right.” Pidge says, nodding as they slip their hands in their pockets.

They make the short trek to the barn, and though he doesn’t want to dwell on it too much, he’s nervous - will Lance be upset that Keith brought Pidge with him? Is he making a huge mistake? Will Lance really be able to handle being around someone that doesn't have freak blood?

Before he can answer any of those questions, they get to the barn. He pushes the thought out of his head, and takes a deep breath as he pushes the doors open and slips inside.

“Keith, are you sure about this?” Pidge asks quietly, and he can feel a hand grasping the back of his hoodie.

“Are you really having doubts now that we’re here?” Keith asks incredulously, voice low as they make their way to the trapdoor by the bales of hay.

“Sorry!” Pidge says, holding onto his hoodie tighter. “I guess it didn’t really sink in until now that this is, you know. Real?”

“Too late to back out now.” Keith says as he crouches down to lift the trapdoor. “You ready?”

Even in the dim light of the moon shining through the shutters, Keith can see Pidge biting their lip worriedly, unsure.

“Pidge. Do you trust me?”

Pidge looks at Keith and doesn’t hesitate to nod. Keith returns the gesture and lifts the trapdoor.

 

* * *

 

After Lance had become a vampire, he had expected a life full of sleepless nights.

He couldn’t have been more wrong, of course: he sleeps like the fucking dead now. He often remembers his human brain being an insomniac sometimes, being forced to take over the counter melatonin to get rest at night - who would have thought he would be sleeping like a log now that he’s technically one of the undead?

“Lance…” a voice calls out, close to his ear. A medium baritone he’d been hearing in his dreams lately, attached to a mullet and large, stunning dark eyes. “Lance,” it says more firmly. “Lance, it’s Keith.”

Of course it’s Keith - who else would it be? Lance reaches out blindly in the general direction of the voice, grasping a handful of soft cloth. He pulls it towards him and hears Keith sputter a  “w-what---Lance!” but he doesn’t care. Keith is warm and soft and his hair is ridiculous and stupid and Lance loves it.

“Let go, you fucker!” he hears Keith say, trying to pull himself out of Lance’s iron-strength grasp.

“No,” Lance mumbles sleepily, keeping his eyes closed, burrowing his face in Keith’s neck. The woodsy, patchouli smell is so strong, clinging to the skin on Keith’s throat, and Lance thinks it might be his body wash, after all. It’s intoxicating. “Let’s take a nap, Keef.”

“Lance!” Keith hisses, and Lance can _feel_ the embarrassment radiating off of Keith in the form of the blush rising up his neck. It’s adorable. He detangles Lance’s arms from around him and pulls back. “Lance, look at me.”

Lance whines but does as he’s told. He takes a deep breath and starts to pull back to flop onto the bed, opening unfocused, sleepy eyes, when the scent hits him like a ton of bricks.

It’s not strong, per say; but it does catch him off guard enough that he freezes in place, eyes immediately widening in terror. His throat burns with thirst, and he looks around wildly. Where’s the human? Lance knows there’s a human other than Keith in his cellar. How did this happen?

“Lance! Lance, hey!” Keith is saying, his hands gripping Lance’s upper arms tightly, but all he can think about is how dry his throat is, how much it burns. He holds his breath immediately. “Listen to me. Lance!”

He looks at Keith, and sees his own eyes reflected in Keith’s, scared and vulnerable.

“Everything is fine, Lance. Hey, look at me. I brought my friend Pidge. I told you about Pidge, remember? I brought them here to meet you, okay?” Keith is saying, voice soothing and gentle, and god, he has the prettiest eyes in the fucking _universe_ and staring at them, getting lost in their depths is all Lance can do to stop himself from spiraling in his panic.

“Keith…” Lance says tersely, voice shaky and brittle. He immediately berates himself for using up the little air supply held in his lungs. “I can’t do this, Keith.”

“You can.” Keith says firmly, eyes set in a determined brow. “I know you can, Lance. I’m right here. I won’t let you do something you’ll regret, okay? You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

He starts to shake his head. How could Keith do this to him? To his own friend, Pidge? Lance shoots a paranoid look behind Keith’s back and sees them standing by the wooden stairs, looking anxious and nervous and honestly, a little scared. It sends a pang of guilt through his chest. He doesn’t want people to be afraid of him. That’s the last thing he wants.

“Hey, do you trust me?” Keith asks, forcing Lance’s eyes back to his own dark ones.

Lance doesn’t even hesitate to nod. Of course he trusts Keith. Other than Hunk, Keith’s his best friend. The one person in the world who knows how much of a freak Lance is and has accepted it, has tried to help him. Lance trusts Keith with his life.

“Lance,” Keith says, his voice low and husky and dammit, now is really _not_ the time to be thinking about how long it’s been since he kissed anyone or hot boys with cute dimples and endearingly emo personalities. “I trust _you._ I know you can do this.”

He wants to believe Keith - he wants to be ready, to know in his heart he isn’t a threat to other people. He nods again, swallowing thickly, and takes another deep, shaky breath.

-x-

Pidge is actually super cool, once they’re not scared they’re going to be Lance’s next meal.

They still keep their distance, which is honestly for the best, Lance thinks. He’s sitting on his cot, nose buried in blue lion plushie Keith had brought him last week. Keith is sitting next to him, hand on the small of his back, rubbing soothing circles over his t-shirt. Pidge tells him their theory on why he can’t smell Keith, why some people smell better than others, and Lance thinks if Pidge had been his Human Biology teacher in high school, Lance might’ve slept less in class.

“See? Told you it would work out.” Keith says, giving Lance a smug smirk, and honestly, it’s kind of criminal how endearing he finds it - he’s supposed to be _mad_ at Keith, after all. Not find him adorable and attractive and handsome, and _fuck everything_ , Lance is so screwed.

“You still should’ve told me, asshole.” Lance mumbles, glaring at him a little. “I might have been able to prepare myself beforehand if you had.”

“You would’ve said no.” Keith says dismissively, bumping his shoulder playfully. “But it’s not so bad now, is it?”

“No, it’s not bad at all, actually.” he says truthfully. The burning in his throat had dissipated into a dull, barely-there ache within two minutes. He looks up at Pidge, who’s sitting on the bottom step of the wooden stairs, staring at them both unabashedly. “Uh, Pidge? Sorry about that earlier.” he says a little louder, clearing his throat. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck nervously. He hopes he didn’t just make a bad first impression.

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Pidge says kindly, shooting him a half smile. “Blame it on Keith. That always works for me.” Lance finds himself grinning.

“I like them.” Lance tells Keith. “Why didn’t you bring them over sooner, Keef? Trying to keep me all to yourself, eh?” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Keith sighs, but Lance can a see the hint of a smile in his eyes, in the way he purses his lips. He leans against Keith’s side, reclining his head on his shoulder fondly as he turns back to ask Pidge a question about their shop.

Keith leans back into him instead of pushing him away.

-x-

“It was really nice to meet you, Lance.” Pidge says, with a lopsided, toothy grin. Lance grins back and bumps his knuckles to their outstretched ones.

“You too, kiddo. Text me, okay? Keef fucking _sucks_ at it. I get bored out here, and this asshole likes to keep me waiting.” Lance says, and he sees Keith flip him off from his peripheral view as he picks up his backpack from the cot.

Pidge snorts as they start heading up the stairs. “You got it, man. See you soon?”

“Sure thing!” Lance says, enthusiastically.

“I’ll meet you at the car, Keith.” they say, holding their hand up for the car keys. Keith nods, throwing them at Pidge. They catch them easily and make the rest of their way up and out of the cellar. Lance waits until he hears the barn doors creak and Pidge’s footsteps move away from the barn to turn to Keith.

He finds that Keith is already looking at him, with a mix of admiration and satisfaction and affection swimming in the depths of his dark eyes. “Keith…” Lance starts to say, hesitating. He doesn’t even know how to start. How to tell him thank you.

“I’m really proud of you, you know.” Keith says quietly, eyes never leaving Lance’s. “I knew you had it in you. You just had to… believe you did. _Try_.”

Lance doesn’t register his legs moving on their own accord, crossing the distance between himself and Keith until he’s throwing his arms around Keith, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He can, however, register the way his eyes start stinging, the tremble in his bottom lip. The emotion threatening to burst from his chest and engulf him whole. He also registers Keith’s arms immediately hugging him back. No hesitation, no doubts.

They stay like that, intertwined in each other, Lance staining Keith’s red flannel shirt with his tears, and Keith not mentioning it, leaning his cheek against Lance’s head, for maybe 30 seconds. When Lance starts to pull back, he notices Keith’s pupils are blown out, dilated, and  _goddammit he’s right there in front of him oh god oh god oh god--_

And that’s as far as he gets in his train of thought before Keith is kissing him softly, but so intensely Lance feels it in his toes. His brain short-circuits for a second, trying to comprehend, trying to wrap his mind around it, but before he knows it, he’s returning the kiss fervently, one of his hands sneaking up to Keith’s shoulder, holding him closer to him, the other one grasping at the back of Keith’s head, fingers tangled in soft, dark hair. He feels Keith groan against his lips, and oh god, Lance might actually melt.

They pull away after a few seconds, Keith kissing his cheek sweetly, and Lance feels like a 12 year old with the biggest, gayest crush. “Sorry…” Keith whispers, forehead against his, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Lance can hear his heart thumping loudly in his chest, and he thinks if his own heart was still beating, it would be doing the same.

“Shut up.” Lance snaps, but his words have no bite, no real fire - his wide grin sees to that.  “Don’t you dare apologize to me tonight. For _anything_.”

Keith chuckles, voice a little husky. “Even for bringing Pidge here without warning you first?”

“Yes, even for _that_. Even if it was kind of a dick move. Thank you. I didn’t realize I could do it. I thought… well. I had kind of already prepared to live isolated forever, ya know?”

“You don’t have to, Lance.” Keith says, and he opens his eyes, and oh god _oh god_ , there’s so much emotion in them, Lance feels his dead heart give an odd lurch in his chest. “I think… I think we should talk to Hunk.”

And just like that, the magic dissipates. Lance sighs. “You know I can’t do that, Keith.”

“That’s what you thought about being around other humans, right? But you can! You did it tonight!” Keith says encouragingly.

Lance shakes head sadly. “You don’t get it, Keith. I _can’t._ I can’t do that to Hunk.”

“Lance, you did just fine tonight. I know it’s scary, but I promise you won’t hurt him. I’ll be there with you. Pidge too, if you want.”

The happiness he’d felt less than a minute ago is long gone. He hunches his shoulders morosely. “I _will_ hurt him, Keith. Don’t you see?” he crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, feeling cold and sad and fucking awful again. “Even if I don’t hurt him physically, I’ll hurt him emotionally. He’s going to fucking _hate_ me.”

He refuses to look up, knowing he’ll probably find pity in Keith’s expression, and he just - he doesn’t think he can deal with that right now.

“Lance-” Keith starts to say, voice disbelieving, but Lance shakes his head.

“You haven’t heard him for last five years, Keith. You don’t know what he’s been through. You don’t know how much I’ve already hurt him, okay?” and dammit, he’s _not_ gonna cry again, he absolutely refuses. “It’s not fair to him. It’s _cruel._ ”

“No, what’s cruel,” Keith says taking a step in his direction, his voice determined and fierce. “Is living without you in his life. What’s cruel is going on letting him think you’re dead. And it’s not fair to _you_.” He reaches out a warm hand to grasp at one of Lance’s cold ones, squeezing comfortingly. “You deserve to be happy.”

Lance makes the mistake of looking up into Keith’s eyes, and feels his resolve crumble at the raw emotion he finds there, the blind trust.

He sighs, his fingers squeezing Keith’s hand back. “I—Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i get a whoop whoop for domestic krolia with her two babies pls bc i'm living for it rn
> 
> come chat with me on the tumble @lucari0s !!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s still time, he thinks to himself as he cuts the engine. There’s still time to back out and go home and not get involved in an already messy situation. But he promised, he reminds himself. He promised himself he would help Lance. He can’t chicken out now.
> 
> “Do right by Lance.” he says to himself resolutely, and throws the door open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, trying to convince myself i'm doing refresher research by replaying re6 and pokémon omega ruby for the details in this chapter: this is fine
> 
> also, i knew my weird, random ass car expertise had to come in handy sometime lmao 
> 
> in typical me fashion, this is heavily unedited lmao
> 
> -x- breaks indicate a change in scene, still in the same perspective as the one before it. horizontal lines indicate change in perspective*****

* * *

“You have to make sure you check the drawers around there--- yeah, those. Okay, now you wanna shoot that blue emblem thing and keep checking the other drawers, they’ve got extra ammo.”

“Y’know, this is a very complex game.” Shiro says absently, squinting at the screen in concentration, PS4 controller held tightly in his hands.

“Wait, hold up, you missed ammo. It’s back there, in that drawer—- there you go.” Keith says, glancing at his brother’s screen briefly before looking back at his own.

“Which gun should I keep out?” Shiro asks, moving his character around in circles.

Keith’s Leon maneuvers around Helena, heading for their objective - the campus key card, and dodges the zombie that launches itself at his feet. He pulls his wing shooter out, backing away and quickly aiming before executing a perfect headshot. “Hmm,” he says, reloading as he makes his way back out of the room. “I would go with the shotgun. Easy, powerful, and doesn’t take a ton of precision. You can take out multiple hostiles with one shot if you aim it correctly.”

Shiro nods in acknowledgement, switching his weapon and standing at the ready as Keith leads the way out, dodging and dispatching straggler zombies here and there.

It’s good spending this time with his brother, Keith thinks as he watches Shiro pick up ammo his kills have left behind. It feels like forever since he and Shiro enjoyed time together, just the two of them. Shiro is constantly busy at the gym, of course, molding young minds into tiny lethal weapons at his junior MMA classes.

Keith himself, of course, isn’t any better at time management lately, what with juggling work and his vampire (kind of?) boyfriend. It’d been lucky that he had the night free (with Lance gone hunting) and Shiro had also (miraculously) had the evening free. They’d made a grocery store junk food run earlier in the day, stocking up on their favorite snacks, and Keith had insisted on playing his favorite out of the Resident Evil franchise, 6, down in the basement, in complete darkness and with the sound turned all the way up.

“Okay, so where do we go now?” Shiro asks, reloading his shotgun. Keith has to hold back a laugh as he glances at his brother. Shiro’s wearing his reading glasses at the tip of his nose, squinting at the large TV screen like an old person.

“L1 gives you the GPS route, remember?” Keith says, dispatching a few zombies as he commands Leon forward through a set of bleachers. “We’re heading back to the door that was locked since we’ve got the key card now.”

“Right, right.” Shiro says, directing Helena forward. They play for a few more minutes, Keith giving Shiro tips and showing him cool little tricks as they go. They’ve just made it out of the underground sewers and are about to enter the town proper when Keith’s phone starts ringing. He might’ve missed the call entirely if his phone hadn’t been sitting in front of him next to his beer and bowl of chips on the coffee table. The screen lights up and he takes a quick look down. Pidge is calling.

“Wait, wait,” Keith says, pausing the game. “Pidge is calling. Hang on, pause it on your side too, so you don’t get attacked.”

“All right,” Shiro says, doing as he’s told and setting the controller down on the couch arm. He stretches as Keith picks his phone up from its place on the coffee table. “I’ll be back, I need to hit the can.”

As he walks away, Keith mutes the t.v. and answers the call. “What’s up, Pid--?”

“Keith.” Pidge interrupts, voice frantic. “It’s _him_. Oh my god, how did I not put two and two together? Of course it would be him!”

He frowns, confused. “Okay, okay. Rewind. What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Pidge whines. “Lance’s friend, Hunk? It’s _Hunk_ _Garrett._ ”

“I’m not understanding the panic.” Keith says flatly, leaning back on the couch with an eyebrow raised at the ceiling.

“Don’t you remember him? I’m sure you saw him around the store.”

“At the _store_?” Keith blinks in confusion before his brain connects the dots and realization dawns in on him and he sits up sharply. “Ohhhhh my god.”

“Finally caught on, have you?”

“What-- _how_ \--how the hell did I fucking _miss_ that?” he groans, running a hand down his face. God, he’s so stupid and _oblivious_. “How did you figure it out?”

“I did some research on Lance and naturally, Hunk came up, being his best friend. Anyway, I should’ve realized it, too, when you first told me about him. I mean, how many people do you know who’s fucking name is _Hunk_?” Pidge sighs. “Though if you’re getting in touch with him, that’ll make things much easier, huh? Since we already know him.”

“ _Y_ _ou_ know him. I doubt he’ll remember me. It’s been a few years, and I wasn’t working with you at the time, remember?” Keith says, lowering his voice as the shock wears off. “God, who would’ve thought. Small fucking world.”

“I know,” Pidge says, snorting. “Makes you wonder, though.”

“Wonder what?” Keith asks.

“If it was… I don’t know. Meant to be, or something.” Keith can hear them fake-retching on the other line. “Ugh. Listen to me, getting all sappy. Anyway, I have his address and phone number, from old employee records I have in the office.”

Keith bites his lip, thinking. “We could go tomorrow morning, if you wanna come with me. I heard him say he’s a mechanic, and I need to replace my spark plugs anyway. Could make an excuse out of that.”

“You’re going to pay extra when you could do it yourself?”

Keith sighs, reaching for his beer, sitting on a coaster on the coffee table. He takes a drink before answering. “If it’ll get us an in, then hell yeah, I’ll do it. Plus I saw it on an episode of Ghost Whisperer. Worked just fine for Melinda.”

“You’re such a dweeb,” Pidge laughs and Keith smirks. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me when you’re on your way.”

“All right. Later.” Keith says, terminating the call and throwing his phone down on the cushions in disbelief.

Lance’s Hunk is Pidge’s old employee Hunk. Keith remembers, out of all the other employees Pidge has had over the years, he had liked him the most. Hunk had been gentle and kind, often bringing cookies and brownies and other homemade baked goods with him to work. He remembers talking to him about food and cars, about building his motorcycle.

So, thankfully, they have an in (or two, technically, since Keith would be getting his spark plugs replaced, after all) with Hunk. And though his camera had died early on in his investigation that first day, Keith had discovered something kind of important he’d completely forgotten about: He had never stopped rolling on the digital recorder after he’d captured and reviewed what, at the time, had seemed like an EVP, but had really been Lance.

The entirety of his first meeting with Lance had been documented. Including Hunk’s visit.

After he’d made his findings known to Pidge, they’d had the brilliant idea of bringing it with them when they went to speak with Hunk - just in case the latter didn’t believe them. Keith knew if someone came at him with something like that, he’d dismiss without any proof. And now they had it. 5 hours of it.

He runs his fingers through his hair nervously. No matter what, he can’t fuck this up. He can’t do that to Hunk, and he _definitely_ can’t do that to Lance, not after what’d happened between them, the trust Lance has in him. Not after that hug, that kiss.

He groans, resisting the urge to bury his head in the couch cushion. He can feel his face burning at that last thought.

“Sorry that took a bit,” Shiro says, walking back with two beers in his hands. He offers one to Keith. “Thought I’d grab these on my way down.”

Keith takes his gratefully. “You didn’t use the bathroom down here?”

Shiro shakes his head, popping the cap off his beer with the bottle opener on the coffee table. “Nah. Out of toilet paper.”

“Huh,” Keith intones as he reaches for the bottle opener.

“So,” Shiro starts as he sets his bottle on a coaster and picks up his controller from the arm of the couch where he’d left it. “What’d I miss? Is everything okay with Pidge?”

“Hmmm?” Keith says over a mouthful of beer. He swallows quickly, nodding. “Yeah, Pidge is good. They, uh. Want me to come with them tomorrow. They’re hanging out with an old friend of theirs. Someone who worked at the store a few years ago.”

“Yeah? Who is it?”  Shiro asks casually. Keith puts his beer down and picks up his controller, shrugging.

“Oh, I, um. Don’t know if you remember him. Hunk? Kind of a big guy, super nice?”

“Oh! Yeah, I remember Hunk! Sweet guy. Never got his macaron recipe, though.”

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. “I can ask him for you, if I remember.” he unmutes the t.v. “All right. Let’s kick some zombie ass.”

-x-

“All right. You ready?” Keith asks as they pull in, and though his head is turned away from them, he can _feel_ Pidge rolling their eyes at him.

“As I’ll ever be.”

It’s a small, detached garage. There’s a big sign on it that reads Garrett’s One-Stop Auto Shop in yellow, chipping paint. It looks cozy and friendly, even from a distance, and they seem to be in luck - there are no other cars in sight, as far as he can see.

“All right, then. Let’s do this.” He says, and puts the car in park, grabbing his phone from the cup holder and his bag from the backseat.

He and Pidge climb out of the car, and now that he’s here, standing at Hunk’s garage, he can feel his stomach twisting into nervous knots. This has the terrifying potential to end horrendously wrong, but Keith is determined to see this through. To do right by Lance and allow him a chance at happiness.

“You okay?” Pidge asks quietly as they make their way inside the actual garage. Keith nods, securing his bag strap across his chest before stuffing his hands in the kangaroo pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing under his jacket.

There are several computer screens with multiple wires and cables sticking out of them for diagnostics, as well as tools stacked up against the walls in shelves. The back end wall seems to have been extended, making extra room for other miscellaneous machinery and a car that seems to be in the middle stages of being built. Despite the clutter, it’s somehow still clean and friendly, almost as if radiating Hunk’s energy.

“Hello?” Keith calls out tentatively. “Anyone around?”

“Be right there!” a familiar voice calls out from the general direction of the car, and only then does Keith notice a pair of legs sticking out from underneath. He and Pidge share a nervous look before Hunk rolls his creeper out and stands up, a friendly and welcoming grin on his face. He’s wearing gray jeans with oil greases all over the front, fraying at the ankles. His faded Sublime shirt seems to be in an equal state as his jeans, covered in grease stains.

There seems to be a heater somewhere, radiating enough heat that it’s actually quite toasty in here. Keith isn’t sure if it’s his nerves or the quick change in temperature, but he feels himself start to sweat under his three layers. “Holy crow!” Hunk says, chuckling good-naturedly as he wipes his hands with an old rag. “Pidge Holt!” he says as he starts making his way to them.

Pidge grins. “Hey, Hunk! Long time, no see, huh?” they say as they step up to give him a friendly hug.

“I’ll say!” Hunk says, laughing in gleeful disbelief. He notices Keith standing there, awkwardly biting his lip. “Keith, is that you?” he says as he and Pidge pull away, his eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming in from the the open garage door.

“Hey, Hunk,” Keith says with an easy smile - it’s kind of infectious, Hunk’s delight at seeing them, and for just a second, Keith forgets what they’re really there to do. “It’s good to see you, man.” He approaches with an outstretched hand, but Hunk ignores it and pulls him into a hug.

It takes Keith a second to process, but being so used to Lance’s affection by now, he quickly returns the embrace.

“Yeah, you too, man! What a nice surprise!” Hunk says happily, clapping him on the back. “So what brings you two to my neck of the woods?”

“Keith needs to have his spark plugs changed, right, Keith? So we were looking online and saw your place. Thought we’d come pay you a visit.”

“Well, come on in, come on in. Keith, you can go ahead and pull your car in the garage and I’ll take a look at those plugs.”

He ushers Pidge into a lawn chair and offers them a drink out of a little mini fridge sitting just off to the side from one of the computers. Keith climbs back in his car and takes a deep breath as he starts the engine and throws in drive.

And that’s when he starts to panic.

Because really, what the _fuck_ had he been thinking, coming here? How is he supposed to bring up Lance casually in a conversation about fucking _spark plugs_? God, this is the worst idea. He looks up as he parks the car; Hunk is smiling down at Pidge as they catch up, undoubtedly, talking animatedly with his hands like he’s seen Lance do sometimes and the sight makes his stomach do an uncomfortable flip. There’s still time, he thinks to himself as he cuts the engine. There’s still time to back out and go home and not get involved in an already messy situation. But he promised, he reminds himself. He promised himself he would help Lance. He can’t chicken out now.

“Do right by Lance.” he says to himself resolutely, and throws the door open.

-x-

“Dude, _nice ride_!” Hunk says appraisingly, inspecting the car as Keith lifts the hood, and honestly, he can’t help the bud of pride he feels in his chest at the words. He’d found his car - the totaled bare bones of a ‘10 Subaru WRX - at a junkyard and bought it for cheap before stripping it completely and rebuilding it from scratch. It’d been a lengthy and expensive, though rewarding, process.

“Thanks, man,” Keith says, biting back a smile. “She’s my baby. Take care of her for me.”

“Only superstar treatment for such a beauty,” Hunk says with a grin before his eyes widen in excitement. “Oh my _gosh_ , is that a freaking _Magnaflow exhaust system_?”

Keith remembers now why he had liked Hunk so much - it’s so easy to talk to him. “Good eye. 16824 Stainless Steel Cat-Back.”

“Damn!” Hunk whispers, voice a pitch higher in awe. “Did you mod this yourself?”

Keith nods as he digs out the new NGK IR spark plugs he’d brought with him, handing them over to Hunk. “Yeah. She’s been kind of a work in progress the last few years.”

“Shit, dude,” Hunk says, cocking an eyebrow at Keith. “If you’re _this_ good with cars, why did you need a mechanic? Not that I’m not happy to see you guys, but I mean... Spark plugs are like, the easiest things to replace.”

Oh, blow. Hell. Keith and his big, proud mouth. He shoots Pidge a look, and they nod encouragingly almost imperceptibly. It’s now or never.

“Uh, well. Actually, Hunk…” He clears his throat nervously and takes a deep breath. “There’s something… important we need to talk to you about.”

“Sounds serious.” Hunk says as he starts removing the bolts surrounding the battery.

“Look, uh. Before we get into it-” Keith says, sitting down on one of the lawn chairs Hunk had set up for him and Pidge while Keith had been pulling the car in the garage. “You have to promise to keep an open mind, okay?”

Hunk turns to raise an eyebrow at Keith as he sets the bolts that had been holding the battery down on the tool’s cart next to him. “‘Course. What’s up?”

Well, here goes nothing.

“I’m not sure if you remember… But uh. I’m a paranormal vlogger…” he swallows nervously as he trails off, convulsively wiping the sweat off the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Anyway, a few weeks ago, I filmed a video… at the old abandoned farm just off Bragg Road.”

Keith, watching Hunk work intently, notices the slightest slip of his fingers as he lifts the battery to remove it. “T-that so?” Hunk says, keeping his back to Keith.

“...Yeah. Anyway, I went in expecting to make contact with the ghost of Lance McClain,” at Lance’s name, Keith sees Hunk freeze, his shoulders tensing. “And found more than I bargained for.” He reaches in his bag at his side and pulls out his phone, where Pidge had downloaded the footage from both the camera and the digital recorder earlier.

“A-are you saying...” Hunk starts to say. Keith, bracing himself for an angry retort, is thrown for a loop when he realizes Hunk sounds almost hopeful. “...are you saying you saw Lance’s _ghost_?”

“No, I didn’t see his ghost,” Keith says looking down at his phone, making sure he’s got the correct video, and beckons the mechanic to him.

Hunk sets his tools and the parts in his hands down, snatching a dirty rag from his shoulder to wipe his hands. “I don’t--”

“I didn’t see his ghost,” Keith interrupts, pursing his lips before looking up at Hunk. “because Lance isn’t dead.”

 

* * *

 

Lance is leaving the Pokémon Center and heading for the Petalburg Woods when his phone rings, startling him.

He sets the 2DS down on the bed and reaches for the phone on his crate nightstand. He glances at the caller ID (there are only two people with his number, but he still checks, just in case) and smirks.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he says as he answers, sliding the phone in the crook of his neck and holding it to his ear with his shoulder as he picks up the 2DS again.

“Hey, uh-- Christ, Pidge, turn that shit down, I’m on the phone--” Keith nearly yells over loud metal music and wow, those are some intense butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the sound of his voice. “Sorry, bab--- _L-Lance_.” he corrects himself quickly, and holy fucking shit, Keith had been about to call Lance _babe_. He feels himself grin almost painfully and knows if he had blood running through his veins, he would be a blushing mess.

He hears someone laughing heartily in the background, and the music suddenly disappears.

“No, no, it’s all good, _babe_.” Lance repeats, and he swears his face is about to split in half over his smile. “What’s going on?”

“You’re not busy, right?” Keith asks, and Lance raises an eyebrow.

“Am I ever?” he asks absently, eye glued to the little screen in front of him as tries dodging one of the trainers along the path but is still spotted and forced into battle.

“Well… I dunno, I thought you might be out hunting today or something. Just thought I’d ask.”

“Nah, I went hunting yesterday, remember? You kept sending me videos of your brother squinting the tv when you guys were playing and then I sent you a picture of me with my shirt off?”

“Oh my god,” Lance hears Pidge’s delighted voice in the background as Keith groans. “He did _what_?”

“Okay, so you’re home,” Keith says loudly, and Lance can almost fucking hear the blush over the phone. He chuckles. “Great. Don’t, uh. Go anywhere.”

“I really wish you could see his face right now, Lance.” Pidge says, and it sounds like they’re holding Keith’s phone now. They must be on their way over and Keith is probably the one driving, he realizes. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him get this red before.”

“All in a day’s work.” he grins as he sends Marshtomp out. “I bet you I’ve seen him get redder, though.”

“You know, I was about to question that, but I don’t think I want to know.”

“Probably not. You guys far away? Should I be expecting you soon? Because I’m about to tear Roxanne’s gym a new one in a second here.”

“Yeah, I think we’re like, 5 minutes away. We just turned on Ghost Road, so maybe don’t challenge the gym quite yet.” Pidge says, and he hears Keith mumble something unintelligible.

“All right, sounds good. See you soon. Give Keith a kiss for me.”

Pidge says gags and says their goodbye. Cheerfully, Lance puts his phone down, saving his game (at least three times) before he turns the DS off and cuddles the blankets Keith had brought for him.

He gets to see Keith again - the butterflies in his stomach are pulling entire Olympic routines and if Lance didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s about to fucking hurl, he’s so nervous and so _excited_. Are they going to kiss again? Hug? Keith had called him babe over the phone just now, and Lance’s mind can’t stop replying it over and over, a stupid grin on his face. God, he’s so far gone, it’s pathetic. But he can’t bring himself to care.

Because _Keith_ had called him _babe._

He buries his face in the red galaxy blanket and if he lets out a squeal, well. There’s no one around to bear witness.

-x-

Wrapped in the red galaxy blanket, Lance slips his shoes on and makes his way outside, stuffing his phone in his the back pocket of his jeans. It’s not necessarily a cold night - but it’s chilly; the kind of chill that reaches your bones and makes your skin crawl. He can hear Keith’s car finally turning in on the dirt road leading to the farm, and he leans back against the barn walls to wait for him and Pidge to make the short trek over.

He can hear it clear as day - two sets of car tires, two engines reverberating against one another. Frowning, he flattens himself out against the wooden wall, and waits for Keith and Pidge.

It takes two to three minutes before he hears a set of footfalls against the gravel making their way to him.

“Lance?” Keith says, voice soft and close by. “I just saw a shadow, are you out here?”

His stomach does an odd, excited somersault. He waits until he knows Keith is about to round the corner to poke his head out from the side of the barn, catching him by surprise with a quick, chaste kiss on the lips. “Thought I heard a mullet.” he says, pulling away, and in the light of the moon, Lance notices, with immense satisfaction, Keith’s pale face darken considerably. “How you doin’, handsome?”

“Fine,” he mumbles shyly, reaching out to grab Lance’s hand and pull him into a hug, and honestly, fucking _honestly_ , Lance is about to explode. How can a grown man be so goddamned  _adorable_? It surpasses the laws of science. He makes a mental note to ask Pidge later. “Can I, uh. Kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask, Keef,” Lance murmurs, nuzzling his neck for a second before he pulls back and catches Keith’s lips in deeper, softer kiss. The same warmth he’d felt the day he’d first kissed Keith blooms in his chest and spreads through his limbs.

When Keith pulls away, he rests his forehead on Lance’s shoulder, taking a second to breathe. Lance thinks he’ll never get tired of hearing the elevated heartbeat, the labored breathing. “Well, it’s polite to ask, isn’t it? Plus, uh. I don’t know when I’ll get to do it again.”

“Why wouldn’t you get to do it again?” Lance asks, frowning at the words. He doesn’t like the sound of that, or the way Keith’s voice gets all sheepish as he pulls away, taking two steps away from Lance, licking his lips nervously.

“Do you remember… What you said the other night? When I asked you…”

“I remember.” Lance interrupts, feeling a cold chill amidst the warmth he’d just been feeling. He crosses his arms over his chest, using the blanket to wrap himself into a tight burrito. To be quite honest, it’d been a detail he’d kind of forgotten about - something to think about _later_ , not after he’d just had his first kiss in five years with his human crush.

“So… you remember agreeing when I said we should tell Hunk, right?”

And that’s when he catches his best friend’s scent.

“Oh my god…” Hunk’s voice comes from directly behind him, and wow, okay, when had _that_ happened? Had Keith been a distraction for Hunk to sneak up on Lance? “L-Lance? Oh my _god_ , _Lance_!”

A pair of strong arms engulf him from behind and if Lance hadn’t already had a whiff of Hunk, if he hadn’t been trying to remember how Hunk’s bear hugs felt on his worst days down in the cellar before Keith and Pidge and Pokemon games, for the last 5 years, he might’ve thought himself crazy. He might’ve lunged to attack.

There’s a choked sob, he can feel tears staining the back of his neck but he doesn’t care because Hunk is hugging him, Hunk is _here_ and he’s crying and oh god, Lance starts hyperventilating.

Before he can say anything, still shocked, Hunk whirls him around and glares at him through his tears. “You idiot! How could you think I would _hate_ you?” Hunk says between hiccups and sobs, and Lance knows he’s crying too, he can feel it when the soft breeze picks up and suddenly his cheeks are freezing, his nose running. “How could you think I would be better off without you around, huh? You overgrown beanstalk, come here!” and again, he’s pulled into Hunk’s arms.

He takes a second to register the fact that Hunk is hugging him again, more fiercely this time, and with a choked sob of his own, he raises his arms and returns the embrace. The burning in this throat is barely noticeable over the pure emotion threatening to make his heart burst.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he hears a tiny, miserable voice, and it takes a second to realize it’s him saying it, repeating it like a broken mantra. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

-x-

They all end up in the cellar, where it’s much cozier and warmer, with the little Honeywell space heater Keith had brought a week ago chugging away.

“I can’t believe you’ve been down here this entire time,” Hunk says, once he and Lance finally detach from each other. He’s sitting next to Pidge on a bale of hay they had dragged down from upstairs. “Y’know, I did wonder what happened to the things I brought you, the garlic knots and the arroz con leche, the torticas de moron… Your favorite foods, your favorite things... I would come back and they would be gone. But I figured it must’ve been you. Your ghost, or whatever.”

Lance, laying on his cot with his head in Keith’s lap, smiles fondly. “Your cooking keeps getting better and better, by the way. Didn’t think that was possible, and yet here you are, making literally orgasmic garlic knots. Keef was there, he saw my face when I had them, huh, babe?”

The word slips so casually from his lips, Keith doesn’t seem to have noticed, just rolls his eyes and continues threading his fingers through Lance’s hair with the utmost gentleness. “He had to hold back a moan. Was kind of gross, really.”

“Whatever, Keef,” Lance says, taking Keith’s other hand and planting a big, sloppy kiss on it, looking up into Keith's eyes. “You were totally jealous of that garlic knot.”

Keith chuckles and _goddammit_ , how is it _fair_ that he doesn’t seem to have any bad angles, any bad sides at all? Where’s the _justice_ in that?

He spends the rest of the night throwing banter back and forth with Pidge, catching up with Hunk, feeling like no time has passed since his disappearance, with one of Keith’s hands threaded in his hair, the other one tightly intertwined with his own, and Lance, his heart bursting at the seams with happiness, thinks this is something he could get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one short and sweet epilogue comin right up!!!!!!!


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been a wild 10-day ride holy shit. 
> 
> thank you all so much for reading and commenting and bookmarking and subscribing and leaving kudos - you have no idea how incredibly motivating your words were. thanks a million!!! <3 
> 
> side note: ngl when i realized if i hauled ass, i could finish on Keith's birthday, i almost didn't sleep for like two days straight. so this is for our favorite emo and his vamp boyf. <3
> 
> quick little thing: none of you ever questioned keith’s blood type but just in case any of you were wondering, type rhnull is real and extremely rare. i actually did some pretty hardcore research to find out more about it and stuff. it’s rad tbh. okay that’s all lol
> 
> unedited for now

“You look nice,” Shiro says, coming down the stairs with a smile as he smooths his hair down, clad in a gray sweater vest and black jeans. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Krolia says taking a deep, stabilizing breath as she makes her way to the kitchen. “Food’s ready… I’m wearing pants… Okay. I think we’re good.”

“Don’t stress, mom.” Shiro says as he opens the freezer, inspecting the pumpkin cheesecake pie he’d slaved over earlier in the day with critical eyes. He turns back to her, shutting the freezer closed again and smiles. “The house looks amazing, the food smells delicious, it’s Thanksgiving, and we’re all together.”

Krolia nods, knowing he’s right. Still she can’t help her frantic nerves as she smooths down the cardigan she has thrown over her purple blouse. Keith had left about an hour ago to pick up his new boyfriend and another friend of his.

“Did you know?” Krolia asks Shiro as she starts setting the table. “That your brother’s dating someone, I mean.”

“I had my suspicions,” Shiro says, helping her by taking wine glasses out of their cabinet and placing them next to the dinner plates. “Tried asking him about it when I started noticing him acting kind of weird, but you know Keith.”

Krolia smiles knowingly, shaking her head fondly. Just last week, Keith had asked Krolia if it was fine with her if he brought a friend for Thanksgiving. Putting two and two together, Krolia had realized he had meant the friend he had mentioned before, the one estranged from his family. She had readily agreed.

Then, just this morning, he had warned Krolia, just before leaving, that his friend might actually (definitely) be his boyfriend.

Krolia has always known about Keith’s sexuality - it has never been a secret, never been something for him to feel ashamed. She’d made sure both her boys had grown up feeling accepted no matter what. Knowing Keith might have finally found someone who cares about him… well, she can’t help her excitement at the prospect of meeting this mystery man.

“Have you met him?” she asks Shiro curiously.

He shakes his head, sighing. “Don’t even know his name.”

And, well. Keith has always been a private person, so that’s hardly surprising, she thinks.

Her train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the front door, closely followed by three familiar voices and two unfamiliar ones.

Krolia and Shiro share an excited glance before making their way out of the kitchen and into the sitting room.

She can see Pidge and Matt removing their coats and their shoes, talking animatedly to a bulkier man Krolia faintly remembers seeing around Pidge’s store. He’s removing a yellow scarf from around his neck, and his name escapes her, it’s been so long, but he turns to her and smiles warmly, extending out a friendly hand. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Kogane. Not sure if you remember me - I’m Hunk. Worked with Pidge a few years ago?”

Krolia takes his hand in one of her own and smiles. “Of course I remember you, Hunk. How have you been?”

She shares a few quick pleasantries with Hunk, Pidge and Matt, before Keith clears his throat, effectively getting her attention. There’s a tall man standing behind him, and… why does he look so familiar?

“Mom?” Keith says, lips pursed nervously. “I, uh. Would like you to meet Lance.”

Krolia blinks a few times, her brain whirring away hastily, trying to connect the dots.

And with realization that hits her like the strike of a cobra, she gasps. Old case files flash in her mind, missing person flyers, photographs, long hours spent speculating, wondering.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kogane,” Lance McClain says, a soft smile on his lips. “Thank you for never giving up on me.”

Speechless, Krolia turns confused, stunned eyes to Keith, who, to his credit, is looking kind of worried. “I… _how_? I don’t…”

 _I don’t understand_ , she’s trying to articulate, but she seems to have lost her voice in her shock.

“I promise we’ll explain everything,” Keith says, and only then does Krolia notice their intertwined hands. Lance McClain. Her son is dating fucking Lance McClain. “But… let’s go sit down first, okay?”

She allows herself to be pulled by her son and Lance into the kitchen. At least Shiro looks just as confused as she feels.

They all take a seat at the table, but Krolia remains standing. “Wait, before you start talking,” she says. “I’m gonna need one or four glasses of wine, give me a minute.”

And as she turns away to grab the strongest red she can find in her fridge, she hears Lance, whispering loudly at Keith, smile in his voice. “I love her already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading!!! i hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! <3
> 
> come chat with me on tumblr @lucari0s !!


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